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STHEI\    GRAY 


AND 


OTHER     POEMS. 


BY 


MARY    BRAINARD. 


PUBLISHED       BY       THE       AUTHOR 


ROCKFORD,  ILLINOIS: 

GAZETTE  STEAM  BOOK  AND  JOB  PRINTING  HOUSE. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

MARY    BRAIXARD, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress. 


\£0 


TO 


jjttts  Ot  jilt 


THIS    LITTLE    BOOK 

IS 

Affectionately  Dedicated 

BY 

THE    AUTHOR. 


762915 


CONTENTS 


ESTHER  GRAY. 

MEMOBY 

WRECKED 

PICTURES 

ALONE     ...  26 

HELP  .          .  30 

Rum 

AWAKENED  .          .  55 

LIGHT      .  .  W 

LABOR 

THE  WINNEBAGO  HUNTER    .  Ill 

JEHOVAH  JIRAH         .  .  183 

CHRIST  CARETII  FOR  YOU     .  139 

BEYOND    ...  143 

THE  NATION'S  DEAD      .  .  146 

YE  MIGHT  HAVE  REST      .  140 

THE  SPRING  BENEATH  THE  HILL  152 
ORA'S  LUTE                                                                                         •      154 


ESTHER    GRAY. 

\ 


MEMORY. 

|NE   wave-break  on  the  long  sand-stretch  of  time. 

A  minor  key  of  that  most  mournful  hymn 
Which  swellcth  from  creation  to  the  close; 
The  life-throbs  of  a  heart  that  throbs  no  more, 
Footprints  that  may  be  seen — the  feet  are  dust, — 
The  labor-marks  of  hands  which  are  at  rest, 
While  memory  foldeth  back  her  curtain-fold, 
Take  thou  one  glance;    she  too  will  go  her  way. 


1O  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Fair  Summer  lay  a  dying.     Esther  plucked 
A  white  Chrysanthemum  from  its  low  shrub: 
Within  her  girdle  placing  it,  she  said, 
*'Thou  wilt  live  longer  thus  above  mv  hetirt 
Than  in  the  frost-touched  garden.     Die  thou  here." 

A  tall,  plain  maiden,  such  an  one  as  you, 
On  crowded  street,  might  pass  without  a  thought, 
Without  the  interest  of  a  second  glance; 
But,  met  in  country-walk  or  rural  grove, 
Would  stop  to  study  and  soon  learn  to  love. 
Thought-lines,  too  deeply  cut  for  that  young  brow, 
That  brow  too  large  for  wqman,  very  full, — 
Blonde,  waving  hair,  just  simply  banded  back, 
Just  simply  wound  in  loose  and  shining  coil. 
What  of  the  mouth?     No  calmness;  no  repose; 
There  lurks  the  tracery  of  a  morbid  soul  diseased. 


MEMORY.  1 1 


Firmness  enough — yes,  rather  sternly  set, — 
The  first  thing  you  would  notice  is,  Unrest. 


What  of  the  eyes?     Why,  either  blue  or  gray, 
I  scarce  can  tell,  the  lashes  are  so  long, 
So  fringe-like  droop  they  o'er  her  roseless  cheek. 
She  looks  as  she  were  weary,  and  would  close 
Them  gladly  to  the  earth,  nor  ope  them  more. 
Oh,  she  hath  raised  them; — what  a  longing  look! 
Now  they  are  filling  slowly  with  great  tears. 
How  through  its  prison-bars  looks  forth  the  soul! 
This  its  unuttcred  language:     "O,  for  wings, — 
For  wings  to  fiee  avvav  and  be  at  rest." 


What  of  the  place?     A  home-like  country  scene: 
Rose-bushes  grow  profuse,  and  Maple  trees; 


12  ESTHER    GRAY. 

An  ivy-vine,  with  tendrils  clasping  two 

Between  them,  idly  swinging  to  and  fro, 

Like  heart  divided,  that  hath  plighted  troth 

To  more  than  one,  and  so  is  false  to  both. 

A  border  of  carnations,  marigolds; 

A  gravel  walk  strown  full  of  autumn  leaves; 

Down  in  the  tangled  grass  a  tiny  grave, 

A  mimic  marble  slab,  and,  such  is  life 

And  death.     "  MY  BIRDY"  written — children's  work. 

The  farm-house  was  a  noble  mansion  once, 

'T  is  now  decayed,,  storm-beaten,  weather-browned. 

Down  through  an  open  window  comes  the  drone 

Of  spinning;  silvery-toned,  a  happy  voice 

Times  to  the  steady  buzzing  of  the  wheel. 

Across  the  street  there  stands  a  wide-cloored  barn., 

And  there's  a  farmer,  rosy  and  sun-browned, 

With  loaded  wagon,  passing  down  the  road; 


MEMORY.  13 

The  stir  is  very  cheerful,  now  the  sun 
Sheds  over  all  his  warm  benignant  smile. 
I  wonder  what  did  make  her  look  so  sad ; 
The  merry  singer  up  above  seems  more, 
Far  more  in  unison  with  time  and  place. 


What  of  the  day?     A  dreamy,  autumn  hush, 
One  of  those  hazy  Indian-summer  days; 
Although  the  night  before  a  death-blight  came, 
With  icy  hands,  unrobing  vines  and  flowers; 
Vet  now,  at  noon,  you  might  have  closed  your  eyes, 
And  fancied  you  were  'neath  June  bowers  again. 
Then,  as  they  opened  on  the  autumn  haze, 
The  gold  and  crimson  of  the  Maple  trees, 
The  glimmering  tinted  sunlight  sifted  through 
Revealing  glory  never  seen  in  June. 


14  ESTHER    GRAY. 


WRECKED. 

O  WHAT  a  loss,  when  Farmer  Allan  Gray, 

Surrendered  to  the  demon  Appetite 

His  manhood's  reason  and  its  self-control! 

For,  underborne  by  that  exultant  fiend, 

vSo  low,  so  low  he  sank  that  self-respect 

Let  go  her  hold  upon  him,  and  he  fell 

Where  purity  might  never  dare  to  come; 

Where  love,  unventuring,  only  sighed  and  wept. 

Alas!  what  risk  as  his  unwary  feet 

Ventured  across  the  God-forbidden  line! 

Long  ere  the  precious  ones  who  loved  him  most 

Knew  of  his  fall,  the  tempted,  yielding,  fell; 

Though,  sometimes,  he  in  desperation  stood 


WRECKED.  15 

For  weeks,  and  held  his  enemy  at  bay, 
Again  to  fall,  and  lie  in  his  despair 
Dumb,  like  a  victim  underneath  the  curse. 

Once  he  was  giant-like  in  iron  will : 

\ 
Now  weak  and  vascillating  as  a  child. 

Self-cultured  he  had  been,  and,  from  a  boy, 

Self-made,  had  risen  till  he  won  a  place 

Among  the  honored  and  the  trusted  few. 

Still  was  he  almost  worshipped  by  his  own, 

And  still  would  little  trusting  children  come, 

Smile  in  his  face  and  nestle  in  his  arms. 

O  wreck  of  manhood! — what  a  noble  wreck! 

How  seamed  and  wrinkled  o'er  his  massive  brow. 

How  bowed  his  tall  and  once  commanding  form, 

How  had  his  brown  locks  whitened  e're  their  time! 

Once  so  esteemed  that  all  his  native  town 

Upon  him  looked  her  noblest  citizen ; — 

Now  school-boys  ran  and  hooted,  "Drunken  Gray!" 


j6  ESTHER   GRAY. 

If  you  had  whispered  in  Rose  Emory's  ear, 
When  in  her  bridal-wreath  and  bridal-vail 
She  plighted  faith  to  him,  these  fearful  words. 
"A  Drun&ard's    Wife  I" — she  would  have  flung 

them  back 

In  scorn;    she  would  have  bade  you  look  upon 
The  man  who  stood  beside  her — ah,  the  MAX! 
.  In  five  short  years  of  blissful  wedded  love, 
While  in  calm  matron-beauty  by  his  side, 
And  pure  content,  she  walked,  such  words  would  then 
Have  called  from  her  naught  but  a  trusting  smile. 
But  when  upon  the  future,  life  had  drawn 
A  few  more  lessons  of  foreboding  love, 
When  baby  Edie  filled  the  house  with  glee, 
An  awful  dread  gained  entrance  to  her  soul, 
That  grew  and  grew,  o'ershadowing  the  whole. 
O,  then  in  anguish  would  her  lips  have  blanched, 
And  all  the  joy-light  faded  from  her  eye. 


WRECKED.  17 

I've  seen  an  oak; — among  a  grove  of  oaks, 

Uplifting  great  green  interwoven  arms, 

Whose  leafless  branch  the  still  house  seemed  of  death, 

There  never  song-bird  warbled,  day  by  day, 

Though  southern  breezes  whispered  love  in  June, 

Because  the  roots  sent  no  earth-juices  up, 

When  down  through  life-cells  came  the  call  for  food, 

I  said,  "'Twere  better  far  cut  down  than  thus 

'Mid  life  to  stand  a  monument  of  death." 

I  stood   upon  the  river-bank  to  watch 
The  drift-wood  floating  downward  to  the  sea. 
There  was  the  commerce-vessel  sailing  by, 
There  was  the  pleasure-boat  with  joy-sails  filled, 
The  fishers'  nets,  the  Indian's  rude  canoe; — 
But  O,  the  drift-wood,  dead-weight  of  the  wave, 
Sport  of  the  wind  and  tide,  driven  to  sea. 


iS  ESTHER    GRAY. 

I  passed  a  garden  overgrown  with  weeds, 

The  nettle,  and  the  night-shade,  and  the  thorn; 

Where  poor  dwarfed  plants  were  'shamed  to  lift  the 

head. 

I  hung  my  head  in  sympathy,  and  said : 
''Accursed  the  slothful  whose  this  garden  is." 

I  from  a  rock  gazed  out  upon  the  sea. 

Toward  shore,  wind-borne,  dismantled  by  the  storm.. 

The  old  hulk  of  a  vessel  drifted   by; 

The  captain  and  the  crew  were  sleeping  low,, 

Engirt  with  sea-weed  in  their  ocean  bed. 

'Twas  over-lettered  with  departed  hope, — 

That  cypher,  which  unraveled  may  not  be, 

Except  by  hearts  which  sent  it  forth  in  vain; 

Except  by  hearts  where  hunger  unappeased 

Still  gnaweth,  like  the  worm  that  dieth  not.. 


WRECKED.  1C) 

O,  drearier  than  the  lightning-riven  oak, 

More  useless  than  the  drift  upon  the  tide, 

More  deadly  than  the  night-shade  and  the  thorn, 

O,  emptier  than  the  old  hulk  floating  by! 

Thou  wreck  of  manhood,  standing  on  the  shore, 

We  watch  thee  drifting  to  a  shoreless  sea, 

We  know  thee  interwound  by  loving  hearts, 

Which  bleed,  and  break,  and  moan  as  moans  the  sea. 

The  Christ-love  reacheth  thee  his  nail-pierced  hand, 

Thy  brother-man  in  pity  casteth  ropes, 

But  fiends  there  are  beneath  to  drag  thee  down, 

And  demon-hands  to  cut  away  the  ropes. 

So,  dizzied  by  the  maelstrom's  rapid  whirl, 

So,  deafened  by  the  breaker's  rush  and  roar, 

Time's  hour-hand  strikes; — the  lost  soul  hath  gone 

down. 

From  God's  eternity  back-echoes  come, 
To  spoiled  despairing  love,  gone  down,  gone  down. 


3O  ESTHER   GRAY. 


PICTURES. 

MID-SUMMER,  harvest-season,  afternoon, 

Near  golden  sunset;  and  a  fair-haired  girl 

With  luncheon-pail  in  hand  walks  o'er  the  field. 

Toil-wearied  binders  down  beneath  the  shade, 

"Glad  of  a  respite,  doze  away  an  hour. 

The  maiden  and  her  brother  saunter  off 

And  stand  upon  a  rock  beside  a  spring, — 

A  spring  so  clear  the  white-winged  cloud  above, 

The  willow-fringe  around  the  water's  edge, 

The  oak-bough,  and  the  bird  upon  the  bough, 

Lay  picture-like,  a  silent  world  within. 

*'O,  Esther!"  said  the  boy,  "how  can  I  stay? 
Thus  'shamed  I  cannot  lift  my  head  in  town. 


PICTURES.  21 

Last  night,  with  father  helpless  on  my  arm, 
Whose  insane  mutterings,  idiotic  stare, 
Pressed  even  heavier  weight  upon  my  heart 
Of  mingled  pain  and  pride,  and  wild  desire 
For  hiding,  though  it  be  within  the  grave. 
Then  passed  me  Lucy  and  those  stranger  girls, 
A  withering  scorn-curl  on  their  pretty  lips," — 
"Not  Lucy  Ames,"  said  Esther;  "sure  not  her?"' 
"No;  but  she  hung  her  head  and  looked  away. 
What  have  we  done  that  cursing  such  as  this 
Comes  down  upon  us  and  upon  our  home?" 

She  bowed  in  silence  for  a  moment's  space; 
In  pearl-beads  from  her  hands  the  water-drops. 
Fell  back  in  crystal  beauty  to  the  spring. 
"  See  Edward,  see  how  pure  it  is,  and  how 
All  'round   it  and  beneath  it  is  black  mud. 


22  ESTHER   GRAY. 

Still  it  keeps  pure,"  she  whispered,  '•  it  keeps  pure. 

To  overcome  this  willful  wayward  heart, 

To  live  so  pure,  to  live  all  scandal  down, 

Are  sermons  I  unto  myself  do  preach; — 

In  practice  falling,  O,  so  far  beneath, 

Between  fair  promises  and  broken  vows. 

Last  night  within   my  soul  a  longing  crept 

For  social  hymns    and  holy  words  of  prayer. 

I  passed  that  place,  accursed,  must  needs  look  in: 

There  stood  our  victim  parent  at  the  bar, — 

With  trembling  hand  paid  down  his  fee,  a  dime. 

I'd  coin  my  life  for  gold,  and  give  it  all 

To  bribe  that  man.     Yes,  I  would  be  his  slave 

If  he  would  pour  his  poison  on  the  street, 

And  send  my  father  home  a  sober  man. 

Volcano-like  within  me  did  uprise 

The  billowy  flame  of  hate; — so  fierce  it  was 


PICTURES.  23 

To  'me  it  seemed  that  demons  of  the  pit 
Did  stir  the  enkindled  embers,  till  at  last 
1  boldly  questioned  God,  'Why  let  him  live?' 
So  I  dared  not  go  in,  but  turned  away 
And  walked  home  through  the  twilight  cursing 
him." 

From  leaden  sky,  slow  drops  the  twilight  down 

O'er  trackless  fields.     A  woman,  worn  and  wan, — 

Aye,  pallid  as  the  snow-enshrouded  earth, 

The  cold  white  crystals  slowly  sifting  down, 

Enwrapping  every  tree  and  every  shrub, — 

JLay  on  her  couch  beside  the  window  drawn. 

Her  eager  eyes  are  gazing  down  the  road, 

And  gathering  round  her  lips  a  grieving  look, — 

A  little  maiden  by  her  mother's  side. 

Long  shadowy  curls  o'erhanging  crimsoned  checks, 


24  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Whose  wailing  sobs  and  bitter  bursts  of  grief, 

Awake  weird  echoes  in  that  silent  room; 

They  two  are  all  alone  a  little  while, 

The  street-gate  opens,  and  a  haggard  man 

Comes  stumbling  through  the  snow-drifts  to  the  door. 

Supported  by  a  fair-haired  girl  and  boy. 

He  bursts  with  curses  into  that  hushed  room 

Without  one  glance  upon  his  dying  love, — 

His  withered  Rose,  his  fair  grief-blighted  flower : 

Throws  down  himself  in  stupid,  drunken  sleep. 

She  wept  great  tears  upon  her  dying  couch, 

She  had  hoped  he  would  be  himself  once  more, 

To  kiss  away  the  death-dew  from  her  brow. 

She  prayed,  "  O  God,  my  worse  than  orphaned  ones. 

Be  thou  their  Father;    they  are  fatherless!" 

Bring  me  the  Book;    my  darlings  open  it: 

This  pledge  you  see;   the  hand  that  traced  these  lines 


PICTURES.  2^ 

Shall  with  the  heart  that  loved  you,  change  to  du'-t — - 

Just  in  the  center  of  this  Holy  Book, 

God's  precious  promises  on  either  hand, 

God's  awful  threatnings  on  either  hand. 

I   hoped  your  father  would  have  signed  this  pledge. 

The  latest  boon   I  asked  of  him  on  earth; 

That  hope  denied  me  turn   I  now  to  you : 

C)  children,  write  your  names  here  under  mine:. 

And  now,  with  hands  upon  this  sacred  Book, 

Vow.  as  you  hope  to  meet  your  mother,  vow 

Eternal  purity  from   that  foul   curse, 

Eternal  Avar  to  all  the  woe  it  brings. 

They  dug  her  a  grave  through  the  drifting  snows,. 

They  folded  her  weary  hands  over  her  breast, 
So  the  earth  sods  fell,  and  her  ears  were  closed 
To  the   winter  winds  and   the  earth's  unrest. 


>(>  ESTHER    GRAY. 

It  is  well,  it  is  well;  e're  the  soul  wears  out, 

Like  the  heart  and  the  hand,  and  the  tear-dimmed 
eye, 

E're  faith  into  weariness,  waste,  and  doubt, 
Drift  to  her  ruin,  'tis  well  to  die. 


ALONE. 

THE  worse  than  orphaned  children,  in  their  grief, 
Their  bitter  lot  of  toil,  together  clung. 
Unequal  to  his  tasks,  young  Edward  grew 
Slender  and  tall.     His  school-days  passed  away 
All  unimproved,  and  heart-hopes  unfulfilled 
Upon  him  pressed,  an  incubus  of  woe. 
But  happy  Edie  was  the  joy  of  home, 


ALONE.  27 

The  sweet-toned  singer  of  the  room  above, 
Whose  bird-like  trill   kept  time  to  spinning-wheel. 
Edie?     That  means  the  gleam  of  sunshine  bright: 
Edie?     That  means  the  rill-song  of  the  vale: 
The  bird  that  warbleth  all  the  solemn  night: 
The  honey-bee  that  gathereth  all  the  day, 
She  paled  in  terror  at  her  father's  tread. 
Awhile  uncomforted  for  mother  mourned; 
But  e're  she  knew  it,  came  again  the  song, 
And  fairy  laughter,  ringing  through  the  house. 
'T  were  well  there  were  more  sunbeams  in  the  world : 
Too  much  we  brood  o'er  that  we  cannot  change; 
We  read  "  Cast  all  your  care  upon  the  Lord," 
We  lay  our  burdens  at  His  blessed  feet; 
We  lay  them  down,  then  take  them  up  again. 
This  world  is  full  of  burden-bearing  ones, 
Sad-browed  disciples  at  the  Master's  feet; 


S  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Bereaved  saints,  up-gazing  through  the  clouds, 

Who,  weeping,  would  recall  their  risen  Lord, 

That  He  may  stand  and  multiply  their  loaves. 

There  is  another  class  of  human  mind 

Always,  always  alone,  like  mist-clad  wastes, — 

Like  wilderness  of  untrodden  solitude, 

Like  solemn  twilight  of  some  island  cave, 

Filled  only  hy  the  ocean's  wash  and  wail; 

Like  storm-tracked  billow,  and  Sahara's  sand. 

Earth's  nearest  friendships  have  but  paced  around 

The  outer  circle,  while  their  lights  have  shone 

But  little  way  to  center  loneliness. 

No  ray  can  reach  the  inner  temple-shrine 

Till  faith  shall  kindle  up  its  altar  fires. 

'T  is  terrible,  this  utter  loneliness. 

Is  not  this  why  so  many  walk  in  shade? 

Do  not  we  see  it  in  their  absent  eyes? 


ALONE.  2y 

We  know  it  as  we  pass  them  on  the  street; 
We  feel  it  in  the  pressure  of  their  hands; 
Conscious  our  greeting  reaches  not  the  heart. 
Earth-love  enfolds  them,  but  it  warms  them  not. 
Wealth  flings  his  jeweled  mantle  over  them; 
What  comfort  hath  it?     It  but  weigheth  down. 
Fame  lays  her  praise-wreathed  crown  upon  their 

brows ; 

What  magic  hath  it  that  can  banish  pain? 
Mirth  reaches  forth  his  hands  to  revelry, 
Till  wailed  forth  be  the  wise  man's  bitter  cry, 
*''Tis  vanity  of  vanities."     No  charm 
Hath  earth  to  cure  the  spirit's  loneliness. 
()  soul,  doth  my  words  reach  thee?     Ask  Christ  in 
That  niche  unoccupied  was  left  for  Him. 
No  other  stone  wrill  fill,  no  other  can. 
Thou  and  thy  need  may  be  in  Him  complete. 


30  ESTHER    GRAY. 

The  care  that  came  on  Esther  from  a  child, 

Gave  her  a  nature  womanly  and  still, 

Drew  'round  her  heart  and  life  a  proud  reserve. 

•'  While  such  a  parent  walks  these  streets,"  she  said. 

••What  joy-companionship  hath  earth  for  me?" 

Upon  her  stronger  will-power  Edward  leaned, 

The  wise  love-guiding  of  a  sister  soul. 

For  mother's  sake,  all  daughter's  duties  were, 

Without  complaint,  most  tenderly  performed. 


HELP. 

AMONG  the  reapers,  one  was  called  to  rest 
Whose  harvest-sun  dipped  slowly  to  the  sea 
Of  gold,  ftir  down  upon  the  western  sky. 
Old  and  beloved,  and  full  of  useful  years, 


And  blessing-crowned,  he  passed  to  his  reward. 
Another  pastor  came  to  them,  heaven  sent; 
A  faithful  trader-shepherd  of  the  Lord, 
With  talent  consecrate  and  love  matured. 
Long  years  before,  this  man  and  Allan  Gray 
Had  been  acquaint,  in  dear  old  college  days. 
Their  lives,  sun-mirrored  streamlets  side   by  side, 
Went  murmuring  awhile,  in  unison  sweet. 
Then,  Moorland-wastes  and  lonely,  tangled  wilds 
Spread  out  between  them,  taking  each  his  way, 
Through  separate  sea-floods  to  the  ocean  wave. 

Upon  the  street  they  met,  and  face  to  face 
Gazed  for  a  moment  in  each  other's  eyes, 
Each  feeling  memory's  fount  most  strangely  stirred. 
Then  Allan  Gray,  with  wondering  cry  of  pain, 
Fled  from  him,  as  one  flecth  from  a  ghost 


I  KSTIIKK    (,KAY. 

That  backward   bringeth  from  the  buried   past 
The  old   familial    features  of  the  dead. 

'T  was  told   him   that   Kos:-   Kmorv  did   sleep: 
The  Rose  of  his  first  love.      lie  would   have   made 
That  dear  one  heart-companion  of  his  life. 
lie  loved   in   vain.      lie  laid  his  joy-dreams  b\ 
And  walked  alone,   save   that  he  walked  with  God. 

Alone  was  Esther  Gray:   'twas  Hearing  noon: 
She  with   her  morning  tasks  all  cleared  away, 
Bathed   in   the  winter  sunshine,   musing  sat 
In  silence  long.     She  had  not  sung  of  late. 
It  seemed  the  song-bird  of  her  life  had  fled 
In   sorrow's  ice  reign  from  their  death-robed  bough. 
For  hours  she  pondered  soul-tossed  and  depressed. 
With   inner  questionings,   u  O,  what  is  life? 


HELP.  33 

And  why  this  wearing,  trying  life  for  me?" 
The  fountain  of  her  tears  did  seem  so  full, 
So  near  the  surface,  ready  to  o'erflow, 
If  hut  by  chance  a  pebble  should  be  thrown 
Its  tiny  wavelets  marking  in  the  soul. 

A  shadow  fell  athwart  the  sunlit  wall, 

Within  the  door,  ajar,  the  stranger  stood. 

-<•  Forgive  me,  maiden,"  said  he  courteously, 

-•They  said  my  old  friend,  Allan  Gray,  lived  here." 

A  conscious  flush  suffused  her  cheek  and  brow ; 

*•  lie  is  my  father,  sir,"  she  simply  said. 

Her  hand  he  clasped;  "  And  you  his  daughter  are. 

J   thought  I  read  his  features  in  your  face. 

I  knew  your  mother  in  her  sweet  girl-days, 

And  would  prolong  the  friendship  to  her  child." 

This  mention  of  her  mother  was  too  much. 


34  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Down,  past  the  flood-gate  of  her  self-controrr 

Did  passion's  swollen  torrent  force  its  way. 

"Thank  God,  thank  God,  my  mother  is  at  rest," 

And  if  I  dared  I  gladly  would  die,  too. 

What  hope-star  is  there  on  our  sky  of  gloom ; 

How  can  we  rise  from  under  this  dark  cloud: 

How  face  this  world  of  utter  hcartlessness ; 

How  crucify  this  bitterness  of  soul? 

For  those  who  wear  the  look  and  garb  of  men., 

Yet  busy  at  the  tempter's  damning  work, 

Drag  down  the  one  who  should  be  our  support^ 

See  other  girls,  who  have  a  father's  care; 

Such  peaceful  homes,  such  gleeful,  careless  hearts* 

Once,  years  ago,  I  too,  had  hopeful  dreams, 

Upreaching  into  glorious  womanhood. 

O,  I  would  be  so  noble  and  so  good, 

So  pure,  so  true;  and  glad  all  hearts  should,  be 


HELP.  35 

That  in  the  world  I  lived,  and  lived  to  bless. 

Air  castles  fallen;  O,  how  soon  they  fell! 

And  now  not  even  castles  in  the  air 

Lifts  from  the  level  of  this  stagnant  gloom." 

The  pent  up  grief  of  long  despairing  years 

In  silence  brooded  o'er,  now  finding  way. 

Forgetting  they  had  never  met  before; 

Unheeding  when  he  kindly,  wisely  strove 

To  check  her  passionate  vehemence,  till 

Subdued  and  trembling  sank  she  on  a  chair, 

Sobbing  as  deeply  as  if  every  burst 

Would  rend  from  breaking  heai't  its  hold  of  life. 

He  stood  beside  her,  gently  with  his  hand 
Put  back  the  moist  hair  from  the  swollen  brow. 
That  good  man,  well  acquaint  with  grief,  had  ne'er 
Forgotten  how  its  weird  and  wintry  blast 


ESTHKK    GRAY. 

Swept  all  his  younger  years  \\-ith  violence. 
When  cherished  hopes  and  cherished  joys  went  down: 
When  Ibw,  dusk  vapor  shrouded  starry  skies, 
And   clasped  the  midnight  billows  in   its  fold. 
*•  Poor,   'wildered,  straying  lamb,"   he  softly  said. 
••Thou   know'st   not  half  the  tender  Shepherd's  care. 
He  leaves  the  enfolded  flock  and  seeks  for  thee, 
On  cold,    dark   mountains  of  thine  unbelief. 
Like  Judah's  captive  maidens,   thou  hast  hung 
Hv   far  Chaldean  wave  thy  tuneless  harp, 
All  broken   and   unstrung,  thy  harp   of  praise. 
I   tell   thee,   child,  the   Healer   hath   a   balm. 
The   great   Physician   hath   a  cure  for  thee. 
There's  resting  in  the   heart  that   broke  for  thee. 
There's  shelter  in  the  folding  of  His   love." 
For  her  and  her's   the  pastor  knelt  in  prayer. 
Till  heavenly  peace  fell  on  the  tempted  one. 


HELP.  I 

As  if  she  touched  the  Master's  garment-hem. 
She  rose  and  smiled. 

Then  in  his  hand  she  placed 

Their  time-worn  treasure,  mother's  pledge  and  vow- 
She  said  "  Remorse  so  sits  upon  his  soul, 
Remorse  and  ruin,  we  have  never  dared 
To  place  this  Book  before  him,  never  dared 
Within  his  hearing  mention  mother's  name." 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  "  shall  we  not  kindly  try- 
By  patient  counsel  and  by  every  means 
To  save  your  father,  my  poor  early  friend  ? 
Tell  me  your  heart,  as  you  have  told  this  day,. 
But,  O,  be  sure  you  tell  it  to  the  Lord, 
Who  giveth  wisdom  and  upbraideth  not." 


38  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Nor  filial  love,  nor  friendship's  holy  charm 

Could  turn  the  fallen  from  his  cup  of  woe. 

I  told  you  there  were  fiends  to  drag  him  down, 

And  demon-hands  to  cut  away  the  ropes; 

I  told  you  hearts  with  love-chords  interwound 

Must  bleed  and  break  and  moan  as  moans  the  sea. 


RUIN. 

CAME  May,  the  bridal  month  of  all  the  year, 

With  soft,  slow 'breezes  burdened  with  perfume, 

When  still,  deep  azure  ocean  overhead, 

Was  so  intense,  so  blue,  the  gazer  lost 

Himself  in  measureless  infinitude. 

How  eyes  did  love  to  linger  on  the  green, 

The  shaded  green  of  meadowland  and  trees, 


RUIN.  39 

And  on  the  violet-dotted  river-bank. 

How  robins  sang  among  the  apple-boughs, 

And  bride-like   cherry-trees — fair  rivals  they — 

How  tulips  grew  enamored  of  the  sun, 

Whose  gold  and  crimson  burned  into  their  hearts^ 

How  to  and  fro  her  incense  censer  swunsr 

O 

"The  lilac,  with  her  paly-purple  buds, 

Till  every  garden  was  a  paradise, 

And  every  woodland  was  a  scene  of  joy. 

O,  what  a  time  for  sorrow  most  of  all ! 

I  dally,  for  I  dread  to  touch  the  woe 

That  on  the  children  fell  those  sunlit  days, 

As  Arctic  travelers  dread  the  ice-locked  seas, 

As  prisoners  pace  'round  the  dungeon  door, 

As  summer  hearts  dread  autumn  chill  and  blight. 

Still  prate  I  of  blue  sky  and  budding  earth; 

Of  bird  and  bee-song  rill,  and  blossom-bough. 


ESTHER    GRAY. 

So  does  misfortune  linger  not  but  come 
Surely  as  time  on  his  uplifted  wing, 
Not  hastening,  and  making  no  delay, 
Grief's  Juggernaut — o'er-riding  bleeding  hearts. 
And  did  not  joy-crowned  summer  say   to  grief., 
"  Fold  thy  dusk  wings  until  my  reign  is  past, 
Bring  not  thy  wailing  into  my  May-days  !  " 
Then  grief  made  answer,  •'  I  His  servant  am. 
I  bring  thee  love-gifts,  precious,  hidden  gems.. 
I'pon  my  brow  He  placed  a  star-set  crown, 
And  sent  me  forth  to  bless  the  sons  of  men.'" 

'T  was  Sabbath  sun-set,  stilly,  golden-hued; 
And  they  had  been  alone  since_early  dawn. 
Beneath  the  maple  shadow  Esther  leaned, 
Beneath  the  vine-clad  porch  the  children  sat;. 
Above  their  mother's  Bible  murmuring  low. 


RUIX.  41 

The  Sabbath  silence  brooding  o'er  the  earth, 
Had  hushed  to  quietness,  like  blessing-hand. 
Of  holy  words,  together  read,  they  talked; 
These  words:  "I  know  that  my  Redeemer  lives; 
Shall  in  the  last  days  stand  upon  the  earth." 
And  then  of  mother's  heavenly  home  and  joy, 
Asking  each  other  which  should  meet  her  first. 
And  then,  breeze-borne,  the  soft-toned  evening  bells, 
And  then,  the  grove-bird's  night-song  trilling  out. 
Half  whispered  Edward,  and  his  blue  eyes  filled 
With  tears  of  longing  love,  "  O,  I  could  die 
To  see  my  precious  mother  once  again, 
To  feel  her  good-night  kiss  upon  my  brow." 

Alas!  can  pen  of  mine  depict  the  scene, 

The  last  earth-pang,  the  wasted  life-hours  close, 

When,  in  the  very  vortex  of  the  pit, 

4 


-J  ESTHER    GRAY. 

lie  feels  the  flame  unquenched  within  his  soul! 

When,  through  each  quivering  heart-nerve  ringeth  out 

His  closing  knell  of  doom:  too  late!  too  late! 

All  they  who  knew  Gray  best  had  feared   this  long; 

And  he  himself  had  feared  it  in  the  hours 

When  he,  unstupefied  by  drink,  could  fear. 

For  often,  in  the  silent,  awful  gloom 

Of  sleepless  nights,  his  aching,  unclosed  eyes 

Saw  hideous  forms  imprint  upon  the  wall, 

In  white,  weird  moonbeams,  which  he  knew  were  not. 

Yet,  with  warped  vision,  could  not  choose  but  see. 

For,  if  he  closed  his  eyes  they  were  imprint 

Upon  the  image  chamber  of  his  brain, 

Till  terror-driven,  he  tried,  and  tried  to  pray. 

But  treacherous  memory  gave  no  words  of  prayer; 

Not  e'en  the  child's  prayer  learned  at  mother's  knee; 

Thougrh  it  did  seem  the  name  of  Christ  would  drive 


RUIN. 


43 


Those  haunting  visions  from  his  sight  away. 

Alas!  his  lips  with  cursing  long  profaned, 

And  parched  by  torturing  thirst,  had  not  the  power. 

Ere  sunrise,  he  that  morn  had  wandered  out 
Into  the  dewy  freshness  sweet  and  cool, 
Among  the  early  bird-songs  of  the  grove, 
Among  the  dawn-gold  glimirjering  on  the  leaves. 
Yet  heard  he  not,  yet  saw  he  not: — His  brain 
Was  filled  with  phantoms  of  disgusting  things. 
O'er  moss-clad  rock  the  poison  viper  crept; 
Among  the  daisies  slimy  serpents  hissed; 
Out-shutting  azure  sky  were  dusk-winged  bats. 
Thus  was  it  that  a  paradise  was  changed 
To  hell,  because  hell  reigned  in  his  own   soul. 
O,  God!  what  thrills  of  joy,  what  pangs  of  woe. 
Are  souls  of  men  created  capable ! 


4  ESTHER    CRAY. 

A  kind  of  instinct  led  him  to  the  haunt 

Of  his  old  revelings,  a  thought  confused, 

To  find  relief  in  his  accustomed  dram. 

His  vision  would  re-clear,  re-string  his  nerves. 

Vainly  the  Sabbath  sun  did  pour  a  flood 

Of  radiant  beams  athwart  that  dingy  room; 

Vainly  the  morning  breezes,  spring-perfumed, 

•Crept  in  among  the  fumes  of  filth  and  sin. 

Flushed  with  last  night's  debauch,  the  keeper  stood 

Behind  his  bar,  his  own  best  customer, 

Stood  glass  in  hand,  as  Gray  came  tottering  in. 

"Give  me  some  brandy,  give  it  to  me  quick!" 

"First  show  me,  have  you  wherewithal  to  pay?" 

•*'  Dare  not  deny  as  you  desire  to  live!" 

Spake  Gray,  all  hoarse  with  passion  and  desire. 

'The  keeper  caught  his  bloodshot  eye  and  quailed. 

Glass  after  glass  of  liquid  fire  he  drained. 


RUIN.  45 

Still  fiercely,  fiendishly  demanding  more; 

Till  stupefied  upon  the  floor  he  sank, 

Dead  drunk.     O,  better  that  he  had  been  dead. 

There  he  for  hours  in  senseless  slumber  lay, 

When  day  toward  evening  drew,  wild  raving,  woke: 

Then  out  into  the  gathering  twilight  gray, 

Just  as  the  church-bell  sent  its  call  to  prayer, 

With  oaths  and  curses  bandied  back  and  forth 

In  fearful  interchange,  from  bolted  door, 

They  sent  the  foaming  maniac  to  his  home, 

The  madman  to  his  children  motherless. 

Laws  of  expediency,  not  framed  in  right, 

Where  policy  dares  license  man  to  sin! 

God  sayeth  in  eternal  holiness: 

•'  Woe  be  to  him  who  giveth  neighbor  drink," 

But  man's  law  grantcth  "  for  a  price  he  may." 


46  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Shall  such,  O,  God,  have  fellowship  with  thec  ? 
The  State  that  frameth  mischief  by  a  law — 
God  sayeth  "  Woe  to  him  that  riseth  up. 
And  with  strong  drink  and  wine  himself  inflame." 
Man's  policy  provideth  him  a  place 
In  every  town;  nay,  every  city  street. 
Where  no  one  shall  molest  or  make  afraid. 
There  is  a  judgment  day;  it  draweth  nigh; 
There  shall  be  that  will  plead,  with  mighty  rocks 
And  mountain-crags,  "O,  hide  us  from  the  face 
Of  Him  who  sitteth  on  the  judgment  throne." 
O,  love  outraged,  O,  Lamb  long  suffering, 
Well  know  I  all  stand  suppliant  at  His  bar, 
But  mercy  reacheth  not  the  case  of  some. 
"'  He  shall  have  judgment  without  mercy  who 
Hath  none  shown  here;  and  mercy  doth  rejoice 
Judgment  against." — This  be  the  word  of  God. 


RUIN.  4 

Did  not  I  tell  you  of  a  sunset  hour, 

Of  three  fair  children  and  a  shaded  porch, 

Of  murmured  words,  low,  gentle-toned  and  sweet? 

I  said  the  boy,  his  earnest  blue  eyes  •filled 

With  tears  of  longing  love,  exclaimed,  '•  To  die 

Were  easy  might  I  meet  her  once  again." 

Just  then  the  maniac  father  reached  his  home — 

Some  demon  surely  must  have  guided  him. 

Together  drew  the  children  in  alarm 

And  ready  fear.     Unclosed  upon  the  step 

Lay  mother's  Bible,  where  her  stiffening  hand 

Had  traced  in  death,  "Ross  GRAY,"  upon  the  page. 

Enough  of  fading  twilight  still  remained; 

His  maddened  eye  just  rested  on  the  words. 

He  clenched  it,  shrieking:     "Have  ye  brought  this 

here, 
This  name,  to  witness  'gainst  me  in  my  sin?" 


48  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Dog-like,  he  grasped  the  book  within  his  teeth. 
Tearing  and  scat' ring  leaf  by  leaf  around. 
In  mortal  terror  Edie,  shrieking,  ran 
Adown  the  foad.     Edward  sprang  forward,  tried 
To  wrench  their  treasure  from  his  father's  hand. 
What  was  the  boy  in  that  fierce  madman's  grasp ; 
With  one  clenched  fist  felled  instantly  to  earth. 
With  blows  and  curses  rained  upon  him,  till 
All  that  young  life,  the  life  He  gave,  had  fled; 
Till  in  a  death-like  swoon  poor  Esther  lay 
Upon   the  murdered  brother's  stifF'ning  form. 

And  thus  they  found  them.     Edie's  terror-cries 
Brought  in  the  travelers  who  were  on  the  road. 
The  one  Squire  Thorton  was,  the  other  one 
A  young  physician  lately  settled  near, 
Paul  Evans,  "  Dr.  Evans,"  on  his  sign, 


RUIN.  4<> 

The  new  gilt-lettered  sign  above  his  door. 

The  frenzied  parent  realized  his  deed, 

All  fury  over;  horror  stricken  sank, 

Nor  uttered  he  another  word  in  life.  • 

Sometimes  in  death's  convulsions  struggling, 

Anon  the  life-tide  seemed  to  ebb  away, 

Away  beyond  the  mist-folds  shutting  out 

The  future  from  our  ken;  away,  away; 

Till  as  the  beast  he  died,  without  a  hope. 

A  ruined  soul!     Well  might  the  heavens  hang 
Their  high-arched  dome  with  blackness,  and  the  earth 
Put  her  fair  bridal  robes  aside,  and  clothe 
Herself  in  sackcloth.     A  lost  soul!     Canst  thou 
Count  out  its  cost  in  precious  gems  and  gold, 
Compute  the  interest  through  eternity? 
Conceive  'mid  radiant  beings  round  the  throne 


5 


O  ESTHER    GRAY. 

The  glorified  existence  it  hath  lost? 

Can'st  tell  us  how  the  mind-powers  might  expand. 

The  deep  thought-faculties  might  grow  and  grow? 

Can'st  map  out  heaven's  dominions  so  that  we 

May  realize  their  beauty  and  their  hliss? 

Unmask  God's  cypher  and  unseal  His  hook, 

And  bid  us  gaze  on  fair  foundation  stones, 

The  jasper,  topaz  and  the  emerald; 

Enter  beyond  the  gates  of  pearl,  and  stand 

On  golden  streets,  cnwrapt  in  temple-light? 

•Or,  who  hath  sent  us  back  a  warning  word, 
Of  banished  souls  who  crowd  the  pit  of  woe. 
Whose  bitter,  wailing  echoes,  reach  us  not; 
That  death-knell  sounding  with  these  awful  words: 
•" Yc  knew  your  duty,  and  ye  did  it  not?" 
In  vain;  the  curtain  never,  never  lifts. 


nrix  51 

And  it  is  well.  I  would  not  peer  beyond, 
To  be  unnerved  for  life's  stern  duties  here; 
Mv  watching,  trusting  trial-hours  here. 

Two  coffins  side  by  side  in  that  still  room — • 
The  murdered,  the  rum  victim,  side  by  side. 
For  not  more  surely  Edward's  early  life 
Bv  violence  cut  oft"  in  early  prime, 
Than  was  the  father's,  sacrificed  by  law. 
A  murderer,  licensed  and  upheld  by  law, 
Not  only  slew  the  body,  but  the  soul. 
O,  the  sin-poison  that  destroys  the  soul! 

\ 

All  gazers,  gazing  on  this  coffined  face, 
Turned  shuddering  from  the  awful  look  it  wore. 
Those  anguish  lines  were  never  smoothed  away 
Or  softened  into  quietness  by  death. 


52  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Nor  durst  he  print  a  lie-smile  on  those  lips, 
Not  e'en  the  poor,  faint  glim'ring  of  a  smile. 
Few  faces  of  the  dead  are  seen  without 
A  calmness,  like  the  storm-lull  quietude, 
Which  preacheth  to  the  passion-heaving  breast, 
Distilling  tear-showers,  and  the  sobbing  wail, 
The  rising  grief-billows,   "  Be  still,  be  still." 
But  this  face  said:  "Wail  on,  O,  burdened  heart, 
Heat,  beat  against  thy  prison,  beat  and  break. " 
It  said:  "Fold,  fold  thy  dove-wings,  holy  faith,. 
For  hope  is  dead,  and  love,  and  murdered  joy.'* 
It  said :  "  Flow  on,  O,  bitter,  briny  tears, 

Ye  may  not  over-wail  the  ruined  soul." 
i 

The  other  was  so  sad,  a  full  young  brow, 
All  seamed  with  ghastly  marks  of  violence: 
A   look  imploring,  pitiful,  congealed 


Around  the  lips  whose  pleadings  were  out-crushed, 

Aye,  swiftly  silenced  by  vindictive  death. 

Hands  clenched,  as  if  in  agony,  and  eyes 

Half  closed,  as  looking  up  reproachfully 

With  questioning  gaze  to  every  human  face; 

And  over  all,  the  cold  white  of  the  tomb 

Enfolding,  vail-like,  its  mysterious  fold. 

O,  wasted  life!     My  pen  had  traced  these  words, 

And  then  I  paused,  for  oftentimes  a  soul 

Hath  risen  ere  its  noon  from  flaming  pyre, 

Through  seas  of  blood,  from  dungeon's  deepest  shade, 

And  left  behind  the  seeding  of  a  field 

That  after  harvest  waveth  into  gold. 

And  oftentimes  a  life  of  four-score  years 

This  parting  word  hath  wafted  back  to  earth 

In  woe-tones  of  regi'et,   "  Unprofitable !  " 

Truth's  noblest  harvests  were  the  victory-fields 


54  ESTHER    OKAY. 

Of  death,  whose  soil  by  blood  enriched,  and  tears. 
Hath   to  perfection  brought  an  hundred-fold. 

Without,  the  day  mocked  on   in  festive  green., 
And,   as  they  bore  them  o'er  the  velvet  sodr 
Star-gilt  by  butter-cups  and  dandelion, 
Fair  apple-blossoms  fell  like  snow-flakes  down., 
Like  tear-drops  on  the  black  pall  of  the  dead.. 
Beneath  the  silence  of  the  summer  sod, 
Grave-hidden,   both   the  parent  and  the  son. 
With   mother's  bed,  the  violet-decked,  between. 
In   after  years  those  sweet   spring  violets 
Spread  over  two,   and  one  was  blossomless.. 
Was  it  a  curse? 


AWAKENED. 


AWAKENED. 

HAVE  you  not  wakened  from  some  fearful  circa  in 
In  haunting  stillness  of  the   midnight  hour, 
Felt  dim,   and  undefined,   and  uncontroled, 
Lost  vision-spectres  roaming  through  your  soul? 
The  dream   forgotten,  but  still  near  the  woe; 
And  all   around  you  in  death-semblance  wrapped.. 
Each  quick,  hard  heart-throb  beating  down  your 

breath, 

Great  drops  of  agony  upon  your  brow  ? 
I  ask,   have  not  you  wakened  in  the  night 
Trembling  and  faint  from   half-forgotten  dreams  r 
You  clasped  the  peaceful  sleeper  by  your  side 
In   closest  fold,  and  so  the  even  beat 


56  ESTHER    OKAY. 

Of  that  warm  human   heart  calmed  clown  your  fear 

Or,  were  you  all  alone,  you  rising  went 

And  sought  companionship  beneath  the  stars. 

But,   O,  they  were  so  far,   so  far  away, 

And  looking  down  so  distant  and  so  cold, 

As  if  your  life  with  all   its  hopes  and  fears 

Were  nothing,  nothing  but  a  single  grain 

In  some  great  wilderness  of  shifting  sand; 

An  atom  only  in  the  sunlight  seen ; 

The  tiniest  insect  of  the  summer  day ; 

Your  life  in  time's  great  cycle  but  an  hour. 

You  wandered   out  among  the  garden   flowers, 
But  they  had  closed  their  petals  when  the  sun 
Shut  down  his  golden  gateway  in  the  west. 
Nor  did  they,  as  by  day,  smile  back  your  smile, 
And  every  one  seemed  weeping  in  its  sleep, 


AWAKENED.  57 

For,  tear-like,  dew-drops  weighed   upon  each  leaf. 
The  night-wind  sobbed   and  sighed  among  the  trees. 
The  river-song  seemed  sadder  than  by  day, 
Sweeter  and  louder,  sadder  than  by  day; 
From  sombre  woodlands  half  a  mile  away, 
The  night-bird  sent  his  solitary  cry. 
Strange,  mystic  word-call  of  the  whippoorwill, 
Found  you  companionship  among  the  flowers? 

Thus,  failing  in  earth-sympathy,  you  knelt. 

With  thought  turned  inward,  circling  your  own  soul. 

And  prayedt  "  O?  Father,  thou  who  art  in  heaven ;" 

And  then  in  faith,  "  O,  Father  of  my  soul ! " 

Then,  as  prayer-struggle  deepened  into  power,. 

Your  heart  cried  "Abba  Father!"  and  the  word 

Intensified  its  tone  of  tenderness, 

As  you  in  spirit  felt  His  presence  thrill. 


58  ESTHER    GRAY. 

His  Holiness,  as  a  bright  flame  of  love 
Enfolded  you  in  glory  and  in  warmth, 
Above  the  seraph  His  Shekinah  stood. 
In  vision  you  beheld  It  leave  the  throne, 
And  hailed  Its  coming.     O,  ye  orbs  of  light, 
This  atom  of  existence  shall  live  on 
When  your  frail  glories  fade  and  pass  away. 
O,  earth,  our  birth-place,  sepulchre,  and  tomb, 
This  be  thy  spoken  doom:    "Reserved  for  fire." 
Not  from  thy  breast  immortal  soul-life  sprang; 
Its  source  was  God,  to  God  shall  it  return. 

When  from  her  death-like  swoon  the  girl  awoke. 
Remembrance  tarried,  reason  lay  dethroned. 
Bewildering  fancy  led  her  day  by  day, 
Crowding  the  brain  with  strange,  disjointed  things. 
That  wheeled  before  her  vision  like  a  dream. 


AWAICKAKI).  «|t 

She  knew  an  awful  woe  hung1  o'er  the  house; 
She  thought  the  sun  cloud-hidden  when  he  shone: 
She  thought  that  all  the  birds  and  flowers  were  dead 
She  did  not  know  her  father's  coffined  face; 
Kept  moaning,  '-Where  is  brother  Edward  gone?'" 
Sometimes  she  sat  with  knitted  brow  for  hours, 
And  tried  from  out  the  chaos  of  her  mind 
To  regulate  the  tangled   misty  past. 

The  farm  to  strangers  went,  the  lonely  house 

Was  left  untcnanted,   no  one  would  live 

Where  horror-scenes  still  seemed  to  haunt  the  place. 

Edie  was  sent  to  distant  friends  away 

For  school-life,   new  companionship,   and  care. 

I  told  you  there  was  one  called  in,   upon 
That  awful  day  by  Edie's  frantic  screams; 


0  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Paul  Evans,  still  a  .stranger  to  the  town. 

His  years  had  reached  the  middle  arch  of  life. 

Uoing  unmarried,  he  was  still  called  voting-. — 

••The  young  new  doctor."  bv  the  villagers. 

Now  should  I  tell  you  that  his  eves  were  brown, 

His  hair  the  same,  all  hung  in  clustering  curls 

And  careless  waves  around  a  noble  brow; 

If  I  should  tell  you  that  the  hue  of  health 

Burned  on  his  cheek  and  brightened  in  his  eye, 

That  eloquence  of  life  was  in  his  step, 

His  genial  smile,   his  jovous  rich-toned   voice, 

"You'd  think  you  could  portray  him; — you  could  not. 

It  seems  to  me  when  Nature  made  him  up, 

She  so  mixed  carnal  with  the  spiritual, 

She  blended  so  the  passionate  and  pure, 

He  often  wa-  a  wonder  to  himself: 

Much  more  was  he  a  wonder  to  his  friends; 


AWAKENED.  6 1 

So  generous  as  to  scarcely  think  of  self, 

Vet  so  self-willed  as  sometimes  to  be  mean. 

In  his  profession  witnessing  the  doom 

Of  thousands,  victims  of  the  mad'ning  howl. 

While  gazing  on  their  ruins  day  by  day, 

Against  his  better  moral  sense  revolt. 

Along  the  dread  abyss  day  after  day 

He  willed  to  tread  the  dangerous,  dixxy  verge. 

And  why?     Because  he  willed  it,  that  was  all. 

Meek,  unpretending  as  a  little  child. 

Woe  be  to  him  who  jostled  'gainst  his  pride. 

Soul-imaged  in  the  eastern  monarch's  dream, 

Whose  feet  were  formed  of  iron  and  of  clay. 

Weakness  and   strength,  part  iron  and  part  clay. 

So  man-like  in  his  stubborn  pride  of  heart; 
Such  man-like  tvrannv  of  mind  and   will; 


62  KST1IER    GRAY. 

The  spirit  that  would  stoop  and  pluck  a  rose 

Or  little  \vuv-side  daisv    just  for  this. 

To  scatter  leaf  by  leaf  along  the  wav: 

That  idly,   uselessly  would   win   a   heart 

To  cast  awav  all  interest  when   \V<MI: 

The  spirit  that  for  pride  would  crush   a  life. 

Nay,   trample  his  own  soul-life  in  the  dib-i  : 

The  spirit  that  for  self-will  would  destroy 

Another's  heayen-hope,   nay,   would   blight  his  own. 

How  many  barks,   loye-freighted.   had  been   wrecked 
Amid  the  breakers  of  that  iron  coa>t. 
How  many  joy-hopes,  blossom-wreathed,   went  down 
In  treacherous  sand  beneath  that  smiling  sea. 
I  cannot  tell  you.     This  I  know,   his  heart 
Grew  strangely  interested  in  the  girl. 
The  poor  bewildered  maiden  in  her  grief. 


AWAKENED.  63 

With  all  the  skill  that  he  was  master  of 
He  strove  to  wake  her  reason's  lost  control. 
Within  her  pastor's  house,  the  parsonage, 
Kept  by  his  widowed  sister  and  her  child, 
Found  Esther  refuge  and  the  kindest  care. 
But  when  her  guardian,  seeking  to  restore, 
Told  of  the  Savior's  sorrow  and  His  love, 
She,  looking  up  with  wintry,  wondering  smile, 
Would  say,  "  I  did  know  Jesus  once,  the  Lord. 
Alas!  He  died  so  many  years  ago. 

X 

Is  that  not  why  the  May-days  never  come? 

They  killed  Him,  and  the  May-days  never  come." 

Each  Sabbath  twilight  Esther  loved  to  sit 
Upon  the  steps  of  her  deserted  home, 
And  strive  to  clear  the  memory-fogs  that  closed 
So  curtain-like  around  the  tragic  past. 


64  KSTIIEK    GRAY. 

When  garden  walk  was  full  of  autumn  leaves^ 
Or  bordered  with  young  grass  and  springing  flowers. 
Or  ice-gems  sparkled  over  bush  and  shrub, 
To  her  old  birth-place,  to  the  place  of  doom, 
She  ever  wound  her  solitary  wa}*. 
And  there  she  lingered  till  the  sun  went  down, 
When  pitying  friends  would  come  and  lead  her 
home. 

' 

Twelve  times  the  new-moon,  like  a  silver  bow, 
Stood  out  among  the  stars  at  twilight  hush, 
Twelve  times  she  flooded  earth  with  mystic   light 
And  banished  darkness  from  his  ebon  throne. 
The  summer  roses  faded,  and  the  corn, 
Silk-tasseled.  golden-cared,  was  gathered  in; 
Fruit-laden  trees  spake  cheerily  to  man, 
••  Come  take  this  burden  from  our  loving  arms." 


AWAKENED.  65 

The  hazel,  and  the  hickory,  and  the  beech, 
Shook  from  their  boughs  the  blessings  of  the  year: 
The  bird-chief  to  his  tribes  gave  forth  command, 
"  Fair  orange  groves  await  us  in  the  south." 
Then  dying  glory  shone  upon  the  trees, 
Then  dried  leaves  rustled  over  withered  grass, 
Then  came  the  first  snow  down  and  wove  a  shroud. 
For  long,  long  months  the  snow-shroud  covered    all. 

At  last  the  nights  grew  shorter,  and  the  days 

Their  sunshine  lengthened;  strange,  mysterious  throbs 

Of  life,  new-wakened,  through  earth's  pulses  ran. 

All  interlacing  roots  beneath  the  sod. 

All  buried  seeds  and  grasses  felt  the  thrill. 

All  hidden  bulbs  responded  to  the  call. 

There  was  a  stir  of  crowding,   pushing  life; 

There  was  a  cry,  C'O.  south  wind,  come  and  blow.'* 


66  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Each  moment  everv  hour  was  bringing  forth 
Unnumbered  myriads,  of  life  so  full. 
And  so  because  up  piercing-  through  the  soil 
Ten  thousand,  thousand,  grass-blades  cut  their  way. 
Because  all  nature  moved,  and  buxxed,  and  sung. 
And  mother  birds  sat  brooding  o'er  their  young, 
Alan's  heart-harp  leaped  into  the  choir  of  praise, 
And  sang,   "Blessed  be  the  Father,   it  is  spring." 

Again  'twas  blossom-season,  happy  Mav, 

Resplendent  as  that   day  of  death  and  doom ; 

You  might  have  thought  that  not  an  hour  had  passed. 

Again  'twas  nearing^  sunset.     Esther  sat. 

As  wont,  beneath  that  memory-haunted  porch. 

Soft  southern  brccxes  fanned  her  brow  and   kissed 

Her  pallid  lips,  as  if  in  tenderness. 

Her  new  friend  sat  beside  her,  sat  and  held 


AWAKENED.  67 

The  dear  old  Bible  open  at  the  place 

Where  mother's  hand  traced  sacred  pledge  and  vow. 

Though  many  leaves  were  seamed  and  torn  away, 

All  of  the  dear,  familiar  names  were  there; 

And  one  there  was  in  bold  and  boy-like  hand, 

As  if  he  meant  to  glorify  that  name, 

By  long,  long  years  of  valor — EDWARD  GRAY. 

He  thought  perhaps  that  this  same  scene  and  hour, 

When  all  around  recalled  the  mournful  past, 

He  might  take  up  again  the  missing  links 

Of  memory  in  her  disordered  brain; 

And  so  he  sat  and  told  the  story  o'er, 

With  plaintive  voice  repeating  name  for  name. 

He  clasped  her  cold  hands,  bent  his  iron  will 

With  all  its  energy  of  hope  and  life, 

And  all  its  magnetism  to  the  task. 


68  ESTHER   GRAY. 

So  he  was  victor.     Low  she  bowed  her  heacL 
Great  tears,  like  rain-shower,  washed  adown  her 

cheeks; 

Her  whole  frame  shook  and  trembled  with  the  rush 
Of  old  home-memories  and  old  love-dreams. 

I  said  at  midnight  hour  the  waking  fear, 
That  wierd,  mysterious  sense  of  loneliness, 
Is  sometimes  charmed  away  by  just  the  beat. 
The  even  beat,  of  tranquil  human  heart. 
And  thus  it  wras  with  Esther.     She  had  learned 
To  wait  and  watch  the  coming  of  his  step; 
To  smile  when  he  smiled  down  into  her  heart. 
So  now.  awaking,  as  she  stood  and  gazed 
With  quailing  eye  upon  that  dreadful  gulf, 
By  which  her  feet  unconsciously  had  passed, 
As  froze  her  life-blood  and  grew  dim  her  evev 


LIGHT.  69 

She  felt  a  strong  and  yet  a  human  arm 
Uphold  her.     Grant  heaven  she  may  not  lean 
Upon  that  thorny  staff,  an  arm  of  flesh ! 


LIGHT, 

I  STOOD  at  midnight,  stood  and  cried  for  light. 
The  thick,  felt  darkness  shrouded  like  a  pall; 
The  north  wind,  rushing  down  from  frozen  fields, 
Beat  on  my  brow,  and  beat  against  my  breast. 
I  heard  behind  me,  sobbing  in  the  gale, 
'The  pine  trees  on  the  hill-side  in  the  gale. 
I  heard  beside  me  rushing  to  the  sea 
The  mountain  torrent,  rushing  to  the  sea; 
Long  dusky  wings  of  night-birds  circling  wheeled 


70  ESTHER   GRAY. 

To  distant  eyrie  o'er  rock-girdled  wave. 
Then  heard  I  echoing  voices  from   the  waste.. 
And  mocking,  echoing  voices  overhead. 

I  stood  amid  the  blackness,  stood  and  cried. 
Earth  said  "  Let  there  be  light."     The  fire-fiend" 

then 

Enkindled  with  his  torch  a  ship  at  sea, 
Burnished  the  midnight  billows  with  its  glow. 
Which  died  away  as  death  shrieks  rose  on  air. 
Then  from  a  distant  city   did  uprise 
A  conflagration  vast,  for  leagues  around 
Shone  lurid  glare   from  ruined  home   and  hearth- 
This,  too,  died  out — 't  was  darker  than  before. 

I  stood  amid  the  blackness,  stood   and  cried. 
Air  said   "  Be  light,"   so  ignus  fatuus 


LIGHT.  yi 

Danced   o'er  the  marsh-hind;   star-like  meteors  played 

Among  the  mists  along  the  river-bank. 

Afar,   on   north  horizon   beautiful. 

The  borealis  traced  a  phantom-day, 

Pale,   shadowy   phantom    of  oncoming  day. 

I   stood  amid  the  blackness,  stood  and  cried. 
Distant  etherial   yvorlds  said,   "  Be  there   lisrit." 

o 

Then  long  rays  wandered  down  from  stellar  orbs, 
So  long,  so  far.   that  sun-payed  milky-way, 
That  south   Orion,   and  the  polar  star, 
Upon  us  faintly  gleamed   mere   points  of  light. 
Then   Earth's  fair  sister  planet  cast  a  flood 
Of  wan,   cold   radiance,   like   funereal  shroud. 
Then   naked   cliff  and   wild  unresting  wave. 
Then   mountain  torrent,  and  old  woods  beyond, 
Gleamed  spectre-like. 


72  ESTHKK    GRAY. 

But,   ah!   the  cold.     My  heart 
Still   pleaded  for  the   light,  the  light  of  day, 
Till  longing  eyes  cast  eastward  did   behold 
A  rose-cloud  resting  on   a   mountain   peak. 
Gold-lined  and  gilt-edged,    in   the  Orient. 
Then  glory-darts  along  the  east  upsprang. 
And  flooded   all  the  firmament   with   light.. 
Pale   waxed   the  stars,  ashamed  the  white-faced  moon. 
That  wandered   dreamily   aclown  the  west. 
Then  mountain  torrent  did  seem   all  aglow, 
Though  dark   old  fir-tops  fell,  the   dazzling  Hood 
Like  burning  bush  aflame  yet  unconsumed. 
Uprisen  from  the  low-lands  deadly  damps 
And  noxious  night  vapors  did  flee  away. 
The  storm-cloud   had   passed  over  with  the  night, 
Freed  nature,   jubilant,   arose   and   smiled. 


LIGHT.  7 

O,  child  of  shadow!  Standing  on  the  shore 

Of  time,  and  shud'ring  at  the  black  waves  sweep, 

Sure  as  thy  cry  goes  up  for  light,  'twill  come. 

Be  not  thou  satisfied  with  lesser  gleams 

Until  the  day-star  doth  arise  on  thee, 

The  day-dawn  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness. 

O,  child  of  sorrow!  All  around  thy  path 
Are  hidden  joys  thou  canst  not  comprehend ; 
The  beautiful  that  wait  revealing  light; 
Soul-rapture  rising  from  the  grave  of  shade; 
Love-mystery  thou  may'st  not  understand 
Until  the  day-star  rise,  and  day  shall  dawn. 

O,  child  of  night!  Re-echoing  with  thy  moan 
The  weird  unresting  wail-song  of  the  sea, 
The  beat  of  Arctic  rain  upon  thy  breast, 

6 


ESTHER    GRAY. 

The  rayless  midnight  l)lack  upon  thy  brow, 
Si-nd  out  across  the  waste  thy  cry  for  light; 
Ti'.ra  to  the  Orient  and  cry  for  light. 

Unreal  that  which  lights  thy  soul  this  day 

A^  Borealis  of  the  northern  sky; 

Misleading  as  the  marshland's  meteor  glare; 

Alas!  as  empty  of  all  true  content, 

As  winter  moon-beams  silvery,  silent,  cold; 

More  torturing  than  the  flame-wrapped  ship  at  sea. 

The  doomed,  defenceless,  drifting  ship  at  sea. 

An  awful  thing  it  is  to  merge  our  own 
Identity  of  soul-life  in  the  love 
Of  one  whose  inner  thought  we  may  not  know. 
An  awful  thing  at  other's  will  to  grieve, 
Aye,  sometimes  at  another's  word  to  die; 


LIGHT. 

For  love  hath  often  such  intensity, 

That  life  or  death  upon  its  verdict  hangs. 

An  awful  thing  it  is,  when  in  a  crowd 

Of  human  beings  we  see  only  one,  . 

So  isolated  from  all  other  mind. 

One  voice  alone  hath  power  to  reach  the  heart; 

In  hushed,  abstracted  silence,  cold  hands  clasped, 

And  lips  are  sealed  in  dumb,  magnetic  spell. 

Unreasoning,  unresisting,  we  are  lost. 

O,  well  for  thee,  if  he  who  folds  that  spell 

About  thee,  hath  God's  image  in  his  soul; 

And  well  for  thee  if  he  dream  not  his  power. 

So  be  thou  hast  not  strength  to  cast  aside, 

Conceal,  O,  captive  one,  conceal  thy  chain. 

And  never  cease  to  struggle  and  to  pray. 

Until  in  Christ,  the  Holy,  thou   art  free. 


75 


D  ESTHER    GRAY. 

It  is  an  awful  error  to  invest 

Earth-idols  with  unreal  excellence, 

For  we  in  anguish  shall  awake  at  last 

To  find  their  gilded  garments  but  a  dream ; 

To  find  our  heroes  poor,  sin-loving  men; 

Our  promised  Eden  full  of  weeds  and  woe; 

Our  love-dream  only  a  sorceric  spell; 

Our  staff  a  hissing  serpent  in  the  hand. 

O,  Christ,  thy  brotherhood  our  wound  hath  probed; 

Thy  counsel  this:  "Reserve  the  love  of  loves 

For  the  Unchangeable;  pure  for  the  Pure." 

Back  from  the  land  of  shadows  came  the  maid, 

From  old  enchantments  which  do  chain  the  mind. 

Confuse  the  vision  and  undo  the  soul. 

So  life's  realities  once  more  did  cast 

Their  weight  upon  her,  as  among  the  sheaves 


LIGHT. 

She  gleaned  beneath  the  sun  its  ripened  grain. 
Along  its  hedge-rows  plucked  the  primrose  fair. 
The  way-side  daisy  and  the  purpling  grape. 

Adopted  into  hearts  that  loved  her  more 
Because  her  lot  was  lonely,  open  way 
She  found  for  usefulness  and  honest  toil. 
A  teacher  of  the  little  village  school, 
Her  welcome  home  was  round  among  them  all. 
Time  wooed  back  health's  carnation  to  her  cheek, 
Time  added  lustre  to  the  pensive  eye. 
Life's  current  peacefully  flowed  on  awhile 
Through  meadow-lands  of  vivid  velvet  green, 
And  quiet  dells.     Her  friend  began  to  speak 
Of  bridal  vows.     He  was  in  earnest  now. 
There  arc  some  natures  in  the  crowd  of  mind 
Whose  life  intense  awaken  earnestness 


7  8  KSTIiKK    C.RAV. 

In  every  heart  that  beats  beside  their  own. 

That  give  their  imprint  well  defined  and  ck':ir 

To  all  around,  receiving  no  return. 

With  such  none  trifle;  all  are  friends  or  foes. 

Alas!  alas!  that  close  companionship 

Which  deepened  his  regard  for  her,  began 

To  strip  her  idol's  gilded  armament, 

And  show  to  her  unwilling  eyes  the  clav. 

The  base  clay  and  the  iron  mixed  with  clay. 

She  drove  at  first  th'  accusing  thought  away, 

Out-crying,  "Baseness  and  ingratitude!" 

Not  at  her  bidding.     Oftentimes  a  sneer 

Of  holy  things,  a  chance-dropped  careless  word 

Of  easy  conquests  over  simple  hearts, 

A  disregard  of  pain  to  others  given, 

Would  seat  the  unbribecl  conscience  on  its  throne. 

Happy,  secure,  that  life  when  love  goes  down, 


LIGHT.  79 

If  constant  reason  steady  at  the  helm 

Of  home-bound  barque,  guide  firmly  into  port. 

One  eve,  through  slanting  sunbeams,  from  her  school. 

With  brain-toil  wearied,  that  hot  summer  day, 

Returning  home,  she  passed  that  place   accursed, 

Ne'er  passed  without  a  shudder  and  a  sigh. 

The  shop  had  been  refitted,  beautified. 

All  its  old  roughness  garnished,  covered  up, 

Or  hid  away  in  darkness.     There  was  naught 

Except  the  trade  itself  that  might  disgust 

The  mosb  refined.     Some  fascination  strange. 

Some  premonition  of  a  changing  fate, 

Some  warning  finger  from  the  dim  unseen. 

Arrested  her,  and  as  she  turned  she  gaze:l 

Dumb,  anguish-rooted,  and  as  pale  as  death. 

The  man  with  whom  her  destiny  was  HnlvccL 


SO  ESTHER    GRAY. 

On  whom  her  heart-hopes  hung  for  happiness. 
With  crowd  profane,  stood  drinking  at  the  bar. 
He,  as  he  quaffed  the  fire-drink,  turned  and  met 
Her  look  of  frozen,  measureless  despair. 
The  spell  was  broken,  for  a  burning  flush 
Of  proud  resentment  rose  upon  his  brow. 
Then  turned  she  sadlv,  slowly  down  the  street. 
Slowly  and  sadly,  just  a  little  way. 
He  came  and  drew  her  cold  hand  through  his  arm. 
She  sickened  as  his  brandy  tainted  breath 
She  felt  upon  her  face.     She  spoke  no  word. 
They  walked  in  silence  on,  and  on,  and  on; 
Out  through  the  village,  past  the  fields  of  grain, 
Down  to  the  rock  beside  that  dear  old  spring. 
The  willow  bordered  rock  beside  the  spring. 
Then  in  the  waning  twilight  sat  them  down. 
At  last  Paul  spoke: 


LIGHT.  8 1 

"Esther,  what  does  this  mean? 
How  is  it  you  have  set  yourself  to  watch 
My  actions?" 

She  but  replied  in  mournful  tones, 
As  life  was  breaking  up  and  hope  had  fled : 
u  Then  all  is  over,  my  joy-dream  is  passed 
So  soon!" 

"So  soon,"  he  answerd  angrily; 
•'What  do  you  mean?     'Tis  weak,  'tis  womanish; 
Because  your  relatives  had  not  the  sense 
To  take  in  moderation  God's  good  gifts. 
Must  I  refrain  from  using  as  I  please 
My  manhood's  liberty?" 

She  answered  not, 

She  heeded  not  the  insult.     Far  too  sad 
Her  life  had  grown;  she  hardly  heard  the  words; 
Rather  thev  strengthened  her  in  her  resolve. 


HSTHKR    GRAY. 

Sometimes,  when  lifj  blood  rushes  to  the  head" 
Or  heart,  the  pain  of  friction  doth  bring  back 
The  system's  balance.     'Tis  a  kindness  shown 
The  dozing,  dying  sleeper  in  the  snow 
To  bruise  and  hurt,  by  any  means  to  stir 
And  keep  astir. 

A  moment's  silent  thought; 
She  stood  before  him  and  she  lifted  up 
Her  right  hand  toward  the  heavens,  and  promised 

God 

Never  to  wed  with  one  upon  whose  lips 
Was  the  pollution  of  that  sin  accursed. 
Then  lifting  both  her  hands,  she  vowed  a  vo\v~ 
That  all  the  energies  of  all  her  life 
And  life's  influence,  should  be  brought  to  bear 
Against  the  woe  that  made  her  fatherless. 


LIGHT.  83 

All  trace  of  anger  faded  from  his  brow, 
White  grew  his  lips  as  her's  had  been  before : — 
He  knew  the  girl  would  keep  her  word  or  die, 
Unless  he  changed,  and  that  his  darling  pride 
Forbade;  and  now,  not  hand  in  hand,  apart, 
Toward  home  they  walked,  life-weary  and  apart; 
Just  as  their  hearts  hcnceforwar.l  must  diverge, 
Each  burdened  and  unaided  to  the  end. 

That  night  at  evening  altar  Esther  said, 
Before  the  pastor  standing,  "Pray  for  me; 
O,  ask  the  Lord  to  kindle  in  my  soul 
His  spirit-life  and  its  self-sacrifice. 
Henceforward  do  I  live  for  Him  alone. 
No  reservation  make  I,  no  earth-love 
In  this  poor  heart  shall  sit  upon  His  throne." 
Through  all  the  lonely  hours  of  that  sad  niofht 


4  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Bv  her  moon-lighted  window  wrestled  she; 

But  when  the  dawn  bent  down  and  kissed  the  hills. 
She  slept  in  peace,  a  tear  on  either  cheek. 
O,  Esther,  from  henceforth  must  thy  work  be 
The  crucifying  of  a  misplaced  love. 

With  him  not  so.     To  drown  his  pain  he  turned 

'To  sensual  delight-;.     Upon  his  pride 

He  leaned;  a  strong,  but,  O,  a  thorny  staff'. 

As  there  had  been  no  God  in  all  his  thought, 

His  grief  the  savor  bore  of  '•  Death  to  death." 

Unloos'ning  her  pure  hand  he  swiftly  sank 

Down  to  the  level  of  his  own  dark  soul. 

"She  knew  he  suffered  much.     The  stern-set  brow. 

'The  wearied,  absent  look  he  often  wore, 

Brought  deeper  pain  than  her  own  loneliness. 

They  often  met,  for  at  the  parsonage 


LIGHT.  t; 

His  visits  were  as  frequent  as  before. 
With  common  words  of  greeting,  never  once 
Their  hands  did  clasp,  or  his  eyes  read  her  own. 
Between  their  souls  rose  barriers  heaven  high. 

Awhile  before  he  had  a  cottage  bought, 

Bird-nest  like,   sheltered  by  great  evergreens, 

And  wreathed  with   ivy  vines.      So  they  had  called 

It  Ivy-home.     "  Here  will,"  they  said,   "  be  found 

Such  happiness  as  they  who  love   may  know." 

Of  late  she  had  not  passed   it.     She  had  grown 

Too  sorrowful   to   see  it  in  the  glare 

Of  summer  sunshine.     So  she  came  one  eve, 

One  fair  moonlighted  evening,  to   the  place; 

Came  and  stood  leaning  on   the  garden  gate. 

Some  one  had  planted  just  before   the  porch 

A  weeping  willow,  graceful,  beautiful. 


86  ESTHER    OKAY. 

Down  ill  its  shadow  was  a  cypress  bed. 

That  night  it  looked   so  strangely  like  a  grave. 

Before  her  fell  a  shadow  on   the  lawn; 

Some  one  she  felt  was  standing  by  her  side. 

She  dropped  her  head,  and  bitter,  blinding  tears 

Fell  silently. 

Wild  was  her  prayer  for  strength. 
Paul  laid  his  hand  beneath  her  tear-wet  cheek, 
And   lifted   up   her  face  toward  the  light; 
Studied  its  care-worn  lineaments  a  space, 
Smiling  half  tenderly,   half  bitterly. 
*'  I  see  you  too  have  suffered.     It  is  well. 
Do  not  I  suffer  too?     O,  Esther!  come 
And  make  this  place  a  paradise  to   me." 
She  only   said:   "Have  you  decided,   Paul? 
Our  paths  diverge;   leave   yours   and   come   with   me. 
I  dare  not  wed  mv   life  to  moral  death; 


LIGHT.  87 

I  will  not  tread  the  downward  path  with  you, 
Even  with  yoziT 

He  started  from  her  side, 
A  burning  anger-flush   rose  to  his  brow, 
With  ringers  clenched  in  pride  and   agony, 
With  muttered  .malediction,   strode   away. 

About  these  days  Edie  from  school  returned. 
Not  fresher,   sweeter,  was  the  garden  rose; 
Not  blither  was  the  humming-bird   that  clipped 
Into  the  secret  heart  of  bud  and  flower. 
Came  like  a  star-gleam  into   all  their  lives. 
Came  like  a  queen,   seating  herself  upon, 
As  if  by  right,  the   throne  of  every   heart. 


ESTHER    OKAY. 


LABOR. 

WHAT  can  a  woman  do  in  earth's  reform, 
What  can  an  earnest  hearted  woman  do? 
May  she,  engirt  with  armor,  sally  forth, 
Crusading  in  knight-errantry  'gainst  wrong? 
Can  she  amid  this  Babel  clamor  make 
Her  voice  be  heard?     Hath   it  the  clarion  ring? 
Within  herself  finds  she  the  force  to  cope 
With  evil   in  its  hardest,  vilest  form? 
Nay,  is  it  every  man  that  hath  the  force? 
One  in  an  age  be  earth's  reformers  born. 
Some  things  there  be  a  woman  can  do  well, 
So  that  her  voice  is  low,   clear-toned  and  sweet, 
This  be  to  her  advantage,  and  the  world's. 


LABOR.  S<> 

She  mouldcth  public  sentiment;  she  gives 

Tone  to  its  morals;  she  doth  train  the  young; 

And  if  she  can  do  more,  God  holdcth  her 

Responsible.     There  have  been  Deborahs, 

And  Judiths,  and  Joan  D'Arcs. 

A  prophet  or  a  prophetess  may  call 

The  race  to  its  allegiance.     Let  earth  hear. 

Ages  ago  a  meek  faced  woman  came, 
Bowed  with  the  weight  of  love  and  gratitude. 
Came,  bearing  precious  ointment  for  His  feet. 
She  wiped  them  with  her  wealth  of  unbound  hair. 
A  traitor  murmured:  "-Wherefore  was  this  waste?" 
The  Master  said,  O,  blessed  be  His  name, 
"Why  trouble  her;  she  hath  done  what  she  could.'" 

To  Judah's  temple-court  the  Master  came. 


90  ESTHER    GRAY. 

He  saw  the  rich  of  their  abundance  cast 
Into  the  treasury  of  the  Lord,  their  God. 
A  woman,  clad  in  weeds  of  widowhood, 
Came  timidly  and  cast  in  her  two  mites. 
'Twas  all  her  living.  Hear  the  Son  of  man: 
"  I  tell  you  she  hath  given  more  than  all." 

A  seed,  so  frail,  so  small  a  thing  it  seemed, 
Unworthy  of  a  thought,  'twas  brushed  aside. 
The  spring-breeze  clasped  it  in  his  hand  and  bore 
And  buried  it  beneath  the  mois'ened  mould, 
One  long,  warm  ray  of  sunshine  lit  upon 
The  seed-grave,  and  this  life-thrill  quickened  it, 
As  surely  as  the  angel's  trumpet  shall 
Call  to  us  in  the  dust  of  earth,  "Arise!" 
Forced  upward  by  its  longings  for  the  light, 
Through  soil  and  sod  it  upward  cut  its  way; 


LABOR.  91 

Two  tiny  leaves,  and  then  it  grew  and  grew. 
Till  birds  might  lodge  them  in  the  branch  thereof. 


Long  had  the  florist  watched  his  favorite. 

All  other  plants  were  in  their  glory.     This 

Showed  only  now  a  great  unfolded  bud. 

Infolded  and  in  darkness,  petals  formed 

And  perfected.     When  to  his  practised  eye 

Came  signs  of  birth  and  bloom,  he  called  his  friends' 

At  twilight  'gan  its  snow-leaves  to  expand; 

When  from  the  zenith  shone  the  moon,  full-orbed, 

Pull-orbed  in  beauty,  wonderful  in  bloom, 

This  night-queen  of  the  garden  met  our  sight. 

O,  Perfector  of  all  infolded  good, 

O,  Author  of  our  providence  and  prayers. 

Thine  is  the  mystery  of  birth  and  bloom. 


92  ESTHER    GRAY. 

I  said  a  maiden,  with  uplifted  handsT 
Did  consecrate  her  influence  and  life 
Against  the  curse  that  wrote  her  fatherless. 
In  lone  Fennels  questioned  she  her  soul 
Its  strength  to  suffer,  and  its  will  to  do. 
Much  questioned  she  of  God,  and  in  the  deep 
Of  her  own  inner  being  struggled  long 
For  freedom;  one  by  one  undid  the  links 
That  bound  her,  like  the  fetters  of  a  slave* 
To  old  time  usages  of  men  and  things. 
Till,  lifted  into  glorious  liberty, 
She  found  her  citizenship  in  the  Christ, 
Where  there  is  neither  male  nor  female, 
Learned  or  barbarian,  bond  or  free, 
But  all  are  one  in  Christ. 

And  this  her  work : 
A  faithful  warning  to  the  tempted  one; 


LABOR. 


93 


Wise  whisper  in  the  ear  of  maiden,  when 
Her  viney  love  around  some  Upas  clung; 
Brave,  earnest  words  to  men  of  honest  minds; 
Deep  questions  of  the  right  and  wrong  of  things; 
The  ballot's  fearful  power  for  good  and  ill; 
The  law-maker's  responsibility ; 
Was  man  to  be  his  brother's  keeper  here? 
Till  grave  and  candid  men  began  to  ask, 
•"What  is  my  work,  what  can  /do  to  stay 
The  flood  tide  of  this  evil  in  our  midst?" 
Who  strangely  thought  the  thought  original 
In  their  own  heart. 

And  this  was  Esther's  work: 
A  pledge  among  the  children  of  her  school. 
Here  wisdom's  fountain  to  up-reaching  mind 
She  filled  and  flooded  it  with  glorious  truth. 
On  this  good  ground  the  seed  sprung  up,  bore  fruit, 


4  KSTHKH  <;KAY. 

And  carlv  ripened  into  usefulness. 
Home  came  the  children,  and  did  preach  the  word; 
They  frowned  with  such  dis' proving  eyes  upon 
The  proffered  wine-cup,  that  to  parents'  hrow 
Uprose  a  flush  of  shame. 

Then  came  new  grief: 
Another  cup  was  pressed  upon  her  lips. 
Strange  confidence  arose  between  the  two 
She  loved  the  most,   and  feared  for  most  on  earth. 
Her  heart,  grown  wise,  well  understood  the  flush 
That  deepened  into  rose  on  Edie's  cheek, 
The  dove-look  that  crept  into  Edie's  eyes 
And  nestled   there  at  mention  of  his  name; 
Well  understood  her  tremor  at  his  step. 
She,  as  by  instinct,  felt  the  links  unseen 
He  wound  about  the  half  unconscious  chikL 
'T  was  no  mean  jealousy.     Her  sister  heart 


LABOR.  f> 

Would  freely  give  its  best  of  earthly  hope 
To  ward  that  darling  from  a  life  of  pain. 
But,  O!  to  see  her  happy  Edie  stand 
Spell-bound  beside  that  blossom-hidden  pit 
Whence  she  in  terror  had  retraced  her  steps 
In  fear  and  awful  trcmb'lings  of  her  soul. 
What  could  she  do?     Could  she  in  Edie's  ears 
Report  his  failings?     Would  that  trusting  child 
Believe  her  words?     Would  she  with  Esther's  eyes 
Look  on  his  sin  ?     What  could  she  do  to  save  ? 
Might  she  to  Evans  go  and  beg  him  to  spare 
Her  innocent  young  sister  from  himself? 
Could  she  be  sure  that  he  would  understand 
Her  motive,  she  might  summon  strength  to  go. 
Her  woman's  pride  forewarned,  this  must  not  be. 
What  refuge  had  poor  Esther  left  but  pr.iver, 
That  refuge  for  the  spirit  desolate? 


O  ESTHER    GRAY. 

What  matters  it  whose  be  the  hand  that  turns 
The  child's  kaleideoscope,  so  that  new  forms 
Of  symmetry  and  beauty  meet  the  eye? 
Nor  matters  it  what  seed-thought  turns  the  drift 
Of  public  sentiment,  so  that  it  drift 
Aright.     He  raiseth  whom  He  will  into 
Co-partnership  in  labor  with  Himself. 
From  babes  and  sucklings  He  perfecteth  praise. 
Not  always  to  the  swift  gives  He  the  race, 
Not  always  gives  the  battle  to  the  strong. 
Man  in  his  wisdom  may  not  search  Him  out. 
This  be  the  word  of  God. 

And  thus  it  was. 

May  be  the  temperance  evangelist 
Who  in  his  round  came  preaching  'gainst  the  sin; 
Mav  be  the  reeling  drunkards  of  the  street 
More  frequent  grew;  that  all  attendant  ills 


LABOR. 

C)f  crime  and  pauperism  pressed  upon 
The  worldly  policy  of  some.     'T  is  true 
That  this  once  quiet,  peaceful  country  town 
Had  multiplied  those  dens  of  infamy,  until 
The  tide  of  death  turned  downward  fearfully. 

A  closely  gathered  crowd  in  court-house  old, 

Of  eager  interested  listeners. 

Mothers  and  men,  gray-haired  and  sunny-haired, 

Held  by  the  speaker  spell-bound  for  an  hour. 

-As  with  word-pictures  he  portrayed  the  sin, 

The  wretchedness  and  hopeless  misery 

'Caused  by  this  unchained  demon  in  their  midst. 

Poor  Edie,  sobbing,  felt  the  dreary  past 

Burdened  with  horrors,  crowding  back  again. 

But  over  Esther's  face  a  holy  glow 

Shone  as  an  inner  ligfht  reflected  througfh. 


0)8  KSTHKH    (iKAY. 

She  \vas  not  living  in  the  past  at  all, 
But  in  the  present,  full  of  promised  good, 
And   in  the  future,  full  of  life's  reward. 


The  speaker  ceased.     Then  other  words  were  said. 

And  other  names  were  called ;  among  the  rest, 

The  name  of  Dr.  Evans.     lie  arose 

With  smile  upon  his  lips,  half  smile,  half  sneer. 

/A-  laid  no  claim  to  eloquence;  he  thought 

He  had  his  share  of  homely  common  sense; 

Held  views  upon  this  subject  different; 

Xor  did  he  think  it  well  to  work  upon 

Their  sentimental  sympathies,  much  more 

The  sisters  and  the  tender-hearted  ones. 

Liquors  distilled  he  claimed  to  he  a  blessing  meant 

To  be  enjoyed,  not  thrown  away  because 

Some  give  to  beastly  appetite  full  sway. 


LABOK.  99, 

As  well  might  food  be  thrown  away,  because 

There  had  been  who  had  gormandized  to  death. 

The  best  physicians  knew,  and  knew  right  well, 

Used  as  a  medicine,  that  alcohol 

Was  to  be  prized,  and  then  he  quoted  from 

The  Book  of  God :  "  Wine  for  the  stomach's  sake," 

And  glancing  'round  defiantly,  sat  down. 

When  Evans  rose  to  speak,  a  painful  flush 
Awoke  on  Esther's  cheek  and  on  her  brow. 
As  he  jeered  on,  it  faded  out  and  left 
A  deathlike  pallor  where  the  rose  had  been. 
When  he  sat  down,  she  'rose,  and  from  white  lips. 
Poured  forth  a  wail  of  eloquence  which  made 
The  shame-flush  burn  blood-red  upon  his  brow. 
The  strangeness  of  the  scene;  the  prejudice 
That  bore  against  her  womanhood;  the  scorn 


IOO  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Waiting1  to  fall  upon  her;  the  foul  sneer 
Of  those  who  would  have  woman  but  to  be 
The  petted  plaything  of  a  man's  caprice; 
Were  all  forgotten,  and  the  pent  up  wrong. 
Her  whole  heart-history,  o'erflowed  its  bounds. 
She  laid  her  child-home  open  to  their  gaze, 
All  her  wrecked  hopes,  bewildered  intellect; 
Her  ruined  father  and  his  murdered  boy; 
Her  mother,  resting  only  in  the  grave. 
Some  bitter,  scathing  words  of  stern  rebuke 
She  hurled  upon  the  man  who  dared  to  stand 
With  false  quotations  from  the  word  of  God 
In  sin's  defence. 

The  silence  was  intense. 

She,  in  the  hush  that  followed,  unperceived. 
Did  through  a  side  door  quietly  step  out. 


LABOR.  IOI 

There  was  a  strange,  death-feeling  at  her  heart, 
A  throbbing  beat,  a  drowning,  struggling  breath. 
The  coolness  of  the  evening  on  her  brow 
Somewhat  revived  her,  and  she  started  home. 
Xot  half  way  had  she  gone,  she  heard  a  step, 
She  turned,  and  he  she  had  rebuked  that  night 
Stood  by  her  side.     He  whispered,  and  his  voice 
Was  hoarse  with  passion :  t%  Esther,  you  will  cure 
My  strangely  foolish  preference  for  you. 
How  would  I  please  you  for  a  brother?  for 
I  think  your  rose-bud  Edie  much  more  fair, 
More  wise  and  maidenly.     I  fancy  she 
Would  not  refuse  me  for  a  foolish  whim." 

Upturned  to  his  a  face  so  ghastly  white 

Did  through  the  shadows  gleam,  his  anger  fled; 

And   in  a  voice  above  a  whisper  scarce: 


IO2  ESTHKR    GRAY. 

"O,   Paul!  have  I  not  suffered  yet  enough? 
Will  not  you   spare  my  sister  from  your  hate", 
Or  what  is  still  more  deadly,   from  vour  love? 
O,   spare  your  soul  from   adding  sin  to  sin. 
If  you  •will  go  to  ruin,  go  alone." 
With  numbed  hands  groping  as  to  find  support, 
With  life-blood  oozing  from  her  lips,  she  fell 
Upon  her  face. 

In  dim  unconsciousness  that  followed  this 
She  felt  him  bending  o'er  her,  heard  him   say : 
"  O,  darling!  have  I  killed  you?"  felt  his  tears, 
And  felt  upon  her  brow  his  farewell  kiss. 
Then  all  was  blank. 

How  long  she  could  not  tell. 
For  days  and  weeks  her  soul  did  dwell 
Upon  the  border-land  of  death.     So  loosed  from  earth, 


LABOR.  103 

The  frail,  soft  touch  of  one  detaining  hand, 

One  sister  hand,  seemed  everything  that  held 

Her  life-boat  at  its  moorings  on   the  strand. 

So  loosed  from  earth  that  everything  below 

Looked  thin,   and  vapory,   and  indistinct; 

And  old  fond  faces  bending  over  her 

She  gazed  on  half  leproachfully,  as  if 

They  shut  her  out  from  her  inheritance. 

She  looked  upon  her  thin,    cold  hands,  and  said: 

*'  Soon   shalt  them  moulder  into  nothingness 

In  the  encoffined  stillness  of  the  tomb;" 

Upon  the  tresses  of  her  unbound  hair, 

That  in  their  silken  beauty   fell  across 

Her  neck,  her  snowy  pillow  and  her  arms, 

And  thought:  "Once  braided,  them   shalt  ne'er 

unbraided, 
In  deep,  encoffined  stillness  of  the  tomb." 


104  ESTHER    GRAY. 

When  Esther  took  again  the  thread   of  life 
And  went  about  its  duties,  one  heart-strand, 
One  link,  was  wanting.     O'er  and  o'er  in   dreams,, 
She  felt  those  burning  tears  upon  her  brow; 
She  heard  that  bitter  cry:   "  O,  darling!  have 
I  killed  you?" — felt  his  grieving,   farewell   kiss. 
And   that  was  all — she   saw  him  but  in  dreams.. 
She  never  asked  his  whereabouts,  but  once 
She  heard  her  guardian   say   he  had   gone  west.. 
Beyond  the  Rocky   mountains,  far,  far  west. 

Unmentioned  was  his   name,  but  Edie's  eyes. 
Oft  glistened   in  the  light  of  tears   unshed. 
Her  voice   took  on  the  mournful  tone  of  one- 
Who  knows  the   pain  of  disappointed   love. 
But  time.   I   told  you,  gentle  Edie's  cure, 
Soon  gave  her  back  her  old  heart  joyousncssr 


LABOK.  1OI 

A  merry -hearted  wife  and  mother  now, 

Her  bird-like  music  through  the  old  house  ring*, 

Though  spinning  wheel  be  silent  in  the  loft. 

But  Esther  her  life-work  had  just  begun. 

Her  pleading  voice  that  evening  turned  the  tider 

Which  at  its  full  but  needed  a  chance  force 

To  give  impetus  forward  to  the  right. 

From  far  and  near,  about  the  land,  there  came 

Calls  for  the  heroine  of  temperance. 

Calm,  clear,  and  certain-toned,  her  voice  rang  outT 

Earnest  and  eloquent  her  warning  words. 

Within  that  widening  influence  thousands  felt 

The  thrill  of  healing  waters  in  their  souls. 

Ten  years  passed  by.     So  pure,  so  peacefully 
Flowed  on  the  current  of  her  life  that  she 


IO6  ESTHER    GRAY. 

Seemed  scarcely  older  than  she  was  before. 
Though  here  and  there  a  silver  thread  appeared 
Among  the  glistening  gold-links  of  her  hair, 
Her  brow  unruffled  still,  her  grave  sweet  smile, 
Full  of  love's  magic;  so  thought  girls  and  boys 
Who  crowded  'round  Aunt  Esther,  and  so  thought 
A  host  of  friends. 

A  host  of  earnest  friends; 

Among  them  one  whom  she  had  known  for  years; 
And  they  of  late  had  been  co-laborers 
Amid  the  promise  of  the  harvest-field. 
She  stood  beside  him  when  in  early  grief 
He  laid  his  bride  beneath  the  summer  sod 
And  turned  away  in  loneliness  of  soul. 
So  when  he  asked  if  she  would  go  with  him 
To  his  far  Indian  mission  in  the  west. 
She  knew  he  offered  but  a  second  love, 


LABOK.  107 

A  lite-long  friendship  founded  on  respect. 
She  felt  that  this  was  all  she  had  to  give. 
And  as  he  asked   no  other  love,   she  went. 

And  if.   in  dream-lands  fair,   another  brow 
Bent  over  her.  and  if  another  voice 
Rang"  in  her  ears,  lie  did  not  deem  she  wronged; 
And  when  old  memories  of  the  mournful  past 
Brought  tears  for  his  dead  love  upon  his  cheek, 
She  did  not   name  it  robberv  or  loss. 

The  remnant  of  a  powerful  Indian  tribe 

Beside  their  mission  house  encamped  one  dav. 

One  Sabbath  day.  to  learn  the  white  man's  God. 

An  old  Chief  of  the  tribe  arose  and  said : 

''A.  pale-face  from  afar  beyond  the  range 

Of  snowv   mountain   summits  dwelt  with  then). 


IO8  KSTHER    (iKAV. 

Because  lie  loved   them    much   he  cautioned  them 
Beware  the  white   man's  burning  drink.      That  \vhei» 
To  spiiit-land  he  passed,  a  sacred  book 
Was  left  among  them."     Then  the  gray  old   Chief 
Drew  from   his  blanket's  fold  a  Testament. 
And   in   it  was  a   name. — What  of  a  name? 
().   nothing;  onlv  it  did   rend  the  veil 
Of  Esther's  past.     It  sent  the  life-blood  back 
Curd'ling  around  her  heart  a  moment's  space. 
Within  the  Testament,  a   Bible-leaf, 
A  torn,  and  crushed,  and  mangled  Bible-leaf. 
Upon   its  margin  written.   ••  ESTHER  GHAV: 
Wrronged,  tortured,  lost,  but,  O,  so  dearlv  loved." 
And  that   was  all. 


POE/VLS. 


THE    WJNNEBAGO    HUNTER 

WHEN  that  rosy  morning  twilight 

Paled  and  shut  the  stars  from  view; 
When  the  early  birds  were  singing 

O'er  a  world  baptized  in  dew ; 
When  the  warm,  new-risen  glory, 

Bathing  tree-top  in  its  glow, 
Bade  the  waning  moon  dip  westward, 

It  had  dimmed  and  faded  so; — 
Spirit-like,  the  swift-winged  bree/cs, 

Through  groves  half  in  shadow  yet, 
Laden  came,  with  wild  balm  fragrance, — 

Fragrance  of  the  violet, 


112  THE  W1VXEBAGO  HUNTER. 

Forest  bough  and  meadow  blossom, 
River,  rock,  and  June-clothed  earth, 

With  the  new-born  day,  yet  dallied 
In  the  cradle  of  its  birth. 


Forty  years  agone,  this  west-land, 

In  that  golden  sunrise  glow, 
Where  the  wild  beast  prowled  and  wandered. 

Where  the  red  man  bent  his  bow. 
Stood  in  all  its  virgin  freshness, 

And  the  green  banks  up  and  down. 
Of  the  winding  Sinnissippi, 

Showed  no  hamlet,  farm,  or  town. 
Then  the  marsh-grass  and  the  rushes 

Stood  untrodden  on  its  brink; 
Then  the  oak-grove  cast  its  shadow 

Where  the  wild-bird  came  to  drink. 


THE    WIXXEBAGO    HUNTER. 

Then,  as  now.  its  clear  reflection 
Mirrored  cliff-line  bold  and  high. 

Whence  the  native  wild-eyed  eagle 
Spread  his  strong  wings  for  the  sky 

Forty  years  agone,  a  hunter 

Came  and  launched  his  rude  canoe. 
^Mid  this  silent,   lonely  landscape 

I  have  tried  to  paint  for  you. 
Not  the  rude  unkempt  backwoodsman, 

Sinking  down  to  savage  life. 
In  its  untrained  license  glorying — 

•Glorying  in  its  scenes  of  strife. 
He  by  heart  knew  all  the  maxims 

Of  the  unblest  bustling  world; 
Once  sat  in  its  halls  of  learning. 

.Saw  its  commerce-sails  unfurled: 


114  TIIE    ^"IXXEBAGO    IIUXTER. 

Once  believed   its  words  of  friendship. 

All  to  trusting  hearts  they  seem ; 
Listened  to  its  faithless  love-vows. 
Till   thev  vanished  like  a  dream. 


Vanished  like  a  dream, — alone  now. 

On  that  golden  summer  day, 
In  the  might  of  earnest  manhood; 

Threaded  through  his  locks  with  gray. 
Mingled   lines  of  pride  and  passion 

Marred  his  lip's  unconscious  curl; 
Vet  his  smile  had  something  in  it 

.Sad,  and  gentle  as  a  girl. 
Stood  he  thus,  enwrapped  in  silence, 

Saw  not  river,  rock,  or  bough — 
( ra/ed  and  saw   not — bitter  thought-tides 

Flooding  lip.  and  cheek,  and  browr 


THE    WIXNEBAGO    HUNTER. 

For  a  moment;  then  he  muttered — 
Muttered  with  a  smothered  sigh: 

"  You  and  I,  old  world,  have  parted 
I  shall  not  be  missed.     Good-bye." 

Like  an  archer's  well-shot  arrow, 

Sped  he  northward,  up  the  stream ; 
Swiftly,  like  a  thought-barbed  arrow 

Silently,  like  sleep-winged  dream, 
As  in  panoramic  vision, 

Tree  and  meadow-lands  swept  by. 
Memory-haunted,  memory-burdened ; 

Murmured  he  with  smothered  sigh : 
"  You  and  I,  old  world,  have  parted 

I  shall  not  be  missed.     Good-bye." 

All  day  long  against  the  current 
Sped  he  up  that  forest  stream, 


Il6  THE    WINNEBAGO    HUNTER. 

Past  the  bluffs  and  past  the  prairies, 

Past  the  openings  in  the  green. 
Once  he  heard  a  hunter's  rifle, 

Heard  the  footsteps  of  a  deer; 
Once  he  passed  the  rude  log  shanty 

Of  a  hardy  pioneer. 
Passed  a  hundred  tiny  islands, 

With  their  glistening  pebbles  stored; 
Passed  the  mouth  of  wild  Kishwaukce- 

Passed  the  Indians'  Rocky  Ford. 
Ever,  ever  like  an  echo, 

Came  the  boatman's  low  refrain, 
Keeping  time  to  steady  oar-stroke 

With  its  monotone  of  pain. 
Half  in  thought  and  half  in  whisper, 

Midway  'twixt  a  smile  and  sigh: 
•'•  You  and  I,  old  world,  have  parted — 

I  shall  not  be  missed.     Good-by." 


THE    WIXXEBAGO    HUNTER.  I  J 

Thus  the  day  sank  slowly  westward, 

And  the  lengthening  shadows  grew 
Till  but  few  faint  rays  of  brightness 

Dropped  like  gold  the  tree-tops  through. 
Down  behind  broad  field  untrodden; 

Down  behind  great  bluffs  and  hills; 
Down  behind  vast,  trackless  woodlands — 

Ar}d  the  earth  grew  dark  and  still, 
Save  the  wailing  of  the  night-bird, 

Save  the  plaintive  whip-poor-will. 

Came  he,  when  the  last  of  twilight 

Lingered  on  the  river  yet, 
Where  the  lonely  Pick-tonica 

Passed  her  marsh-lands  low  and  wet- 
On  the  further  side  a  bluff  rose, 

Woody-crowned,  against  the  sky, 


IlS  THE    WIXXEISAGO    HUNTER. 

Where  the  wolf  howled,  and  the  panther 
From  the  thicket  sent  his  cry. 

There,  beside  his  watch-fire,  waited 
Till  another  day  drew  nigh. 

Then  he  built  his  lodge,  and  hunted 

All  the  summer  months  away ; 
There  for  days  along  the  river 

With  his  rifle  he  would  stray — 
Plucked  the  shining  wild  strawberries. 

Dried  them  for  his  winter  cheer; 
Caught  the  fishes  of  the  river. 

Dried  the  venison  of  the  deer; 
Made  his  bed  of  grass  and  rushes, 

Drank  at  Nature's  fountain  clear. 

Man)-  a  Sabbath  he  would  lay  him 
Where  the  blurts  o'erhung  the  stream; 


THE    WINNKKAGO    HUNTKll.  11-9 

Lav  to  watch  the  clouds  above  him. 

Watch  the  waters  pass,  and  dream 
Of  another  home  and  countrv. 

Of  another  summer  skv, 
Till,   with  white  lips,   he  would  murmur — 

Murmur  with  a  smothered  sigh : 
'••  You  and  I,  old  world,  have  parted — 

I  shall  not  he  missed.     Good-bye." 

Many  a  time,  a  glorious  vision 

Fixed  upon  his  waking  dream : 
Saw  the  future  farm  and  hamlet. 

Saw  the  future  forge-fires  gleam ; 
Heard  the  church-bell  answer  church-bell 

Up  and  down  and  o'er  the  stream; 
Saw  a  thousand  strong-armed  workmen. 

Heard  the  factory's  din  and  roar; 


f>O  THE    \V1NN  KB  AGO    HUNTER. 

Saw  a  thousand  glad-eyed  children 
Trooping  from  the  school-room  door; 

Heard  the  railroad  engine  screaming 
All  those  broad  prairies  o'er. 

Once   the   red   men — Winncbgoes — 

Warm   and   weary  from   the  chase, 
Peered  into  his  lodge,   and   wondered 

At  the  stranger — the  pale  face; 
Asked   for  food,   and  for  tobacco, 

.Slept  within   his  lodge  till  day; 
(fathered  up  their  bows  and  arrows,.. 

Rose   and   went   upon   their  wav. 

Once   a  missionary   halted — 

Halted   at   the   hunter's  door, 
Craving   food,   and   rest,   and  shelter — 


THE    WINX'EBAGO    HUNTER.  I2t 

Shelter  till  the  storm  was  o'er; 
Questioned  of  his  soul,  prayed  with  him. 

Placed  God's  word  within  his  hand; 
Shared  his  frugal  fare  and  blessed  him, 

Went  upon  his  way  again. 

Then  the  clusters  of  the  wild  grape 

Had  to  purple  richness  come, 
And  the  forest  fruits  were  ripened — 

The  crab-apple  and  the  plum. 
Then  came  early  frosts  of  autumn, 

And  the  nights  grew  chill  and  long. 
When  the  summer  blooms  were  faded, 

When  the  summer  birds  were  gone; 
Then  the  woods  took  on  the  grandeur 

Of  the  richest  sunset  glow — 
Purple,  crimson,  yellow — waving 


122  THE    WINNKBAOO    HUNTER. 

In  the  autumn  breezes  slow. 
Then  the  hazy  Indian  summer 

Came,  enchanting  shore  and  stream 
With  its  magic  wand  of  beauty, 

Still  and  shadowy  as  a  dream. 

But  a  change  came  o'er  his  spirit, 

And  his  step  grew  sad  and  slow; 
He  no  more  within  the  forest 

With  his  dog  and  gun  could  go. 
All  day  long  around  his  doorway, 

Loitered  in  the  warm  sunshine; 
All  night  long  upon  his  deerskins 

Waking,  wearily  reclined; 
For  a  pestilent  miasma, 

Risen  from  the  marsh-lands,  came 
And  subdued  the  stalwart  hunter, 


THE    WINNEBAGO    HUNTER.  123 

Spreading  poison  through  his  frame. 
Sometimes  trembling,  chill  and  cheerless, 

In  his  cabin  all  alone; 
Sometimes  in  his  fevered  frenzy, 

Raving  of  a  distant  home. 

When  the  storms  of  bleak  December 

Filled  the  forests  with  their  roar; 
When  the  gaunt,  ill-omened  wolf  howled 

Hunger-driven,  round  his  door; 
Crouched  above  his  dying  embers, 

Sallow  cheek  and  hollow  eye, 
Sat  he  weeping,  courage  vanished, 

Half  believing  he  would  die. 

One  night  when  his  dog  uneasy 

Grew,  with  many  a  whine  and  bark, 


124  THE  WINNEBAGO  HUNTKK. 

As  he  peered  from  crack  and  casement, 

Vainly  out  into  the  dark; 
Heard  he  only  stealthy  footsteps 

On  the  wet  sward  by  the  door; 
Heard  a  timid  knock,  then  entered 

One  he  ne'er  had  met  before. 


*Ap-uk-wa,  an  Indian  maiden, 

Stood  with  stately  step  and  form, 
But  her  black  hair  and  her  blanket 

Drenched  and  dripping  with  the  storm. 
She  had  come — the  old  Chief's  daughter, 

Youngest,  and  his  best  beloved, 
Skilled  in  all  the  arts  of  healing — 

Sent  his  gratitude  to  prove 
For  the  pale-faced  stranger  fed  him 

•  Bulrush. 


THE    WIXXEBAGO    HUNTER.  125 

Once,  and  sheltered  from  the  rain; 
So  the  Winnebago's  daughter 

Came  to  bring  him  health  again. 
In  her  hands  were  barks  and  berries, 

Roots  fresh  gathered  from  the  soil. 
Weary  sank  she  on  the  hearthstone 

With  her  travel  and  her  toil. 

Ap-uk-wa,  the  old  Chief's  daughter, 

Kindled  up  his  fire  so  high — 

I 

Made  his  lonely  hut  so  cheerful, 

He  forgot  the  stormy  sky; 
Stirred  his  couch  of  grass  and  rushes, 

Bade  the  sick  man  there  lie  down, 
Piled  the  deerskins  all  above  him, 

Tucked  them  closely  all  around. 
Then  she  came  and  stood  beside  him, 


126  THE    WINNEBAGO    HUNTER. 

Bringing  him — in  his  tin  cup — 
Medicine  so  dark  and  bitter, 

Saying,  "  White  man,  drink  it  up." 
Laid  the  firewood  high  and  higher, 

Made  his  herb-tea  still  more  strong; 
Wrapped  his  deerskins  closer  round  him, 

Sang  her  low,  strange  Indian  song. 
When  he  asked  for  roasted  venison, 

Called  for  coffee  or  corn  bread, 
Smiling  stood  she  there  beside  hin, 

Gave  him  Waho-tea  instead. 


Three  long  hours  the  worn  out  sleeper, 
Swelt'ring,  dozing,  dreaming  lay, 

And  his  watcher  watched  beside  him 
Till  the  dawning  of  the  day. 

When  he  woke  the  sun  was  shining 


THE    WIN>fEBAGO    HUNTER.  I2f 

Bright  and  warm  across  the  floor, 
Without  pain  of  limb,  or  fever; 

But  he  saw  his  nurse  no  more. 
She  had  left  a  meal  beside  him — 

Roasted  venison  and  corn  bread ; 
She  had  emptied  out  the  Waho, 

Left  him  coffee  there  instead. 

Though  for  days  and  months  the  hunter 

Had  not  felt  so  well  and  new; 
Though  he  found,  when  she  had  left  him, 

Chills  and  fever  left  him,  too — 
Strangely,  nothing  seemed  to  suit  him, 

Like  a  child  his  peevish  brow; 
Never  seemed  his  lodge  to  be  so 

Comfortless  as  it  was  now. 


128  THE  WINSEBAGO  HUNTER. 

When  the  snow-drifts  filled  the  forests, 

He  could  wander  far  and  near; 
Trap  the  beaver,  trap  the  otter, 

Hunt  the  wolf  and  chase  the  deer. 
But  he  saw  no  Indian  maiden, 

Though  his  heart  made  search  for  her, 
And  his  lodge  grew  very  lonely, 

Though  it  had  grown  rich  in  fur. 

One  day  seated,  idly  musing, 

Sullenly  above  the  fire, 
As  the  wind  swept  round  the  hillside, 

Piled  he  up  the  fagots  higher; 
Heard  once  more  that  stealthy  footfall, 

Heard  his  name  called  low  and  sweet; 
Ap-uk-wa,  the  old  Chief's  daughter, 

Came  and  sat  down  at  his  feet; 


THE    WINNEBAGO    HUNTER.  129 

Told  him  that  some  thieving  warriors 

In  her  father's  tribe,  one  day, 
Planned  to  kill  the  lonely  hunter, 

Planned  to  steal  his  furs  away. 

Bent  he  down  and  smiled  upon  her, 

Looked  his  thanks,  and  murmured  too : 
*'  Better  far  than  wealth  or  culture 

Is  a  warm  heart,  firm  and  true." 
Said :  "  My  lodge  is  very  lonesome — 

Lone  and  dark  as  it  can  be — 
P*e  my  bride,  O,  Indian  maiden, 

Be  my  wife,  and  bide  with  me." 
Never  blushing,  never  shrinking, 

In  her  own  his  hand  she  drew, 
.Bending  down  her  brow  upon  it, 

Saying:  "I  could  die  for  you." 


130  THE  WIXNEBAGO  HUNTER. 

Then  the  man  of  God,  returning 
From  his  mission-field  one  day, 

In  the  bonds  of  marriage  bound  them, 
Blessed,  and  went  upon  his  way. 

Days  of  peaceful  summer  sunshine, 
Days  of  winter-cheer  they  knew; 

Better  than  the  highest  culture 

Was  that  warm  heart,  kind  and  true. 

Children  gathered  round  that  hearthstone- 
Buds  upon  their  household  bough — 

With  their  father's  eagle  glances, 
With  their  mother's  dusky  brow. 

Then  the  white  men  settled  near  them, 
Filled  her  heart  with  angry  pride, 

As  they  looked  with  scorn  upon  her — 
She,  the  hunter's  dusky  bride. 


THE    WINNEBAGO    HUNTER. 

Never  held  she  converse  with  them, 

Only  in  her  native  tongue; 
But  when  the  malarious  fever 

Her  white  neighbors  came  among, 
She  would  bring  them  herbs  for  healing, 

Watch  beside  them  day  by  day; 
Like  a  Christian  go  among  them, 

Till  the  fever  passed  away. 

Then  she  faded — slowly,  surely — 

From  the  home  her  love  had  blessed, 
At  the  call  of  the  Great  Spirit, 

And  they.. laid  her  down  to  rest. 
Not  within  the  white  man's  church-yard 

Did  her  children  come  to  weep, 
Nor  among  her  savage  kindred 

Did  they  lay  her  down  to  sleep. 


THE    WINXEBAGO    HUNTER. 

Where  the  wild  rose  bides  in  fragrance, 
Where  the  first  spring  violets  hide; 

Where  the  river  flows  in  sunshine, 

Where  the  oak  grove  stands  in  pride — 

Ap-uk-wa  is  calmly  sleeping, 
With  her  hunter  by  her  side. 

For  awhile  her  lonely  daughters 

Lingered  round  the  old  home  shade; 
In  our  halls  of  learning  studied, 

In  our  churches  sat  and  prayed. 
Then  the  youngest  wed  a  pale-face — 

Wed  him  but  to  be  betrayed ; 
All  arc  gone,  her  dark-haired  daughters, 

Gone  her  scattered,  wandering  tribe; 
But  they  tell,  round  many  a  fireside, 

Of  the  hunter's  Indian  bride. 


JEHOVAH     JIRAH. 

ESCAPE  to  the  mountains,  oh  burdened  with  care! 

Press  thy  bleeding  feet  over  the  flint-rocks  bare! 
Linger  not  in  the  spring-belt  of  blossoms  and  green; 

In  the  top  of  the  mountain  the  Lord  shall  be  seen. 

Take  the  wood  of  the  valley,  the  fire  and  knife, 
Thine  offering  with  thee,  the  dearer  than  life; 

Falter  not,  thy  God  loves  the  obedient  best, 
And  after  thy   labor  He  giveth  thee  rest. 

Up,  up !     Thou  art  weary,  the  tears  fall  fast 

On  the  rose  and  the  thorn,  as  thou  clamberest  past, 

And  thy  heart  goeth  out  in  a  grieving  prayer, 

And  thy  pale  lips  murmur,  "Will  He  meet  me  there?'1 


134  JEHOVAH   JIRAH. 

O,  where  is  the  pillar  of  fire  by  night, 
And  the  pillar  of  cloud  in  the  burning  light? 

Let  me  rest  in  thy  shadow,  O,  cedar  and  pine! 
Lend  me  thy  long  arms,  O,  clustering  vine! 

Up,  up  from  the  earth;  'tis  a  prison  of  death, 
And  the  valley  is  foul  with  its  pestilent  breath; 

Look!     Yonder's  a  cross,  and  what  does  it  mean? 
In  the  top  of  the  mountain  the  Lord  shall  be  seen. 

There  an  altar  was  reared,  and  thy  sin's  bitter  pain 
Washed  away  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb  that  was  slain. 

For  thee,  up  the  mountain  that  cross  hath  been  borne. 
For  thee  hath  the  thorn-crown  of  anguish  been  worn. 

The  pierced  hand  of  Jesus,  thy  burden  undoing. 
Shall  quiet  the  dull,  weary  pain  of  thy  breast. 

And  hope,  the  immortal,  arising  from  ruin, 

Shall  hush  all   thv  doublings  to  faith's  perfect  rest. 


JEHOVAH   JIRAH.  135 

The  anthems  of  angels  shall  echo  around  thee, 
And  the  great  heart  of  Christ  shall  thy   resting 

place  be; 
Thou  wilt  wonder  and  weep,  for  the  love  that  hath 

found  thee, 
When  thou  from  thy  sin-fetters  all  shalt  be  free. 

Though  sorrow-storms  rage,  and  life's  great  deep    be 
broken, 

In  the  Rock  that  was  smitten  for  thee  thou  shalt  hide; 
.And  thy  soul-yearning  prayer,  the  unwept,  the  unspoken, 

Be  answered  in  Jesus,  u  The  Lord  will  provide." 

Like  nature's  great  calm,  when  the  tempest  is  ended, 
And  the  sea  hushes  down  its  low  moan  to  the  shore, 

With  the  trust  of  a  child,  by  love's  vigil  defended, 
With  the  veteran's  joy  when  his  conflicts  are  o'er. 


136  JEHOVAH  JJKATI. 

There  is  love  when  the  friendships  of  earth  are  departed., 
There  is  light  when  the  false  lights  of  earth  have- 
grown  dim. 

There  is  room  for  the  weariest,  loneliest-hearted, 
A  joy,  and  a  hope,  and  a  refuge  in  Him. 

When  the  Pharisees  scoffed  and  the  lawyers  dissembled-. 

The  demon  confessed  Him,  the  leper  implored; 
When  the  rulers  and  priests  at  His  faithful  words 
trembled, 

The  sinner  with  tears  washed  the  feet  of  her  LorcL 

When  His  friends'  bitter  sobs,  and  His  foes'  deep 

revilings, 

Like  a  troubled  dream  past,  to  His  dying  ears  came.. 
The  prayer  of  a  soul  from  its  depths  of  defilings, 
Brought  Him  back  to  this  life  and  His  life-work 
again. 


JEHOVAH   JIRAH. 

When  His  weeping  disciples  rehearsed  the  sad  story, 
And  the  proud  Roman  soldiers  were  guarding  His. 
grave, 

He  arose  from  His  tomb  and  re-entered  His  glory 
With  a  pledge  of  His  power  to  cleanse  and  to  save. 

He  hath  cast  up  a  highway,  the  path  of  the  holy: 
No  vulture  hath  seen  it,  no  lion  hath  trod; 

There  find  all  the  contrite  in  heart,  and  the  lowly,. 
The  rest  that  remains  for  the  people  of  God. 

He  hath  opened  a  fountain  for  cleansing  and  healingv 
Like  the  "River  of  Life"  flowing  down  from  the 

throne ; 
It  came  from  His  cleft  heart,  its  death-thought 

revealing, 
The  water  to  cleanse,  and  the  blood  to  atone. 


138  JEHOVAH   JIRAH. 

He  hath  said,  and  oh,  precious  the  word  He  hath 
spoken, 

"I  will  not  forsake  till  I  bring  thee  above, 
Though  the  tie  of  the  father  and  first-born  be  broken, 

Though  the  mother  abandon  the  child  of  her  love." 

On  the  mountain  of  Gocl,  earth's  marsh-land  discarded, 
Where  hover  the  death-mists  of  envy  and  strife, 

There  find  thy  lost  Eden,  by  seraphs  unguarded, 
For  the  Man  of  the  cross  was  the  Master  of  life. 


CHRIST  CARETH   FOR   YOU. 

HE  careth  for  you  on  your  suffering  couch, 

As  the  long  lonely  hours  drag  by; 
W  hen  the  rose-bloom  is  fading  away  from  your  cheek? 

And  the  joy-light  is  leaving  your  eye; 
As  you  think  of  the  lillies  you  may  not  pluck, 

And  the  green  sward  you  may  not  tread; 
As  you  think  of  the  time  they  will  bear  you  out 

O'er  the  garden  walk,  cold  and  dead. 
When  you  hush  in  a  tear-wet  pillow  your  moan, 
The   cry  of  a  grieved  heart,  alone,  alone, 
Christ  careth  for  you. 


140  CHRIST    CARETH    FOR    YOC. 

He  caret h,  oh  widow,  for  you  in  your  grief, 

When  the  strong  arms  and  sheltering  breast 
Are  gone,  and  the  whole  earth  seems  dreary  and  void, 

With  never  a  home  or  a  rest. 
When  the  jubilant  hope  of  the  morning  is  past, 

With  the  joy  of  the  spring-time  away, 
And  your  poor  loveless  life  in  its  twilight  gloom, 

Is  wearing  to  Autumn's  decay, 
Who  noteth,  with  weeping,  your  eyes  grow  dim, 
And  your  heart  in  its  pleading  for  love,  but  Him? 
Christ  careth  for  you. 


Who  careth  for  you,  oh  ye  desolate  one, 
When  the  brow  of  the  mother  is  cold, 

And  the  father  hath  laid  him  down  to  sleep, 
In  the  damp  of  the  church-yard  mold; 

Wrhen  the  snow-flakes  fall  on  your  sister's  grave, 


CHRIST    CARETH    KOK    YOU.  141 

And  lay  white  on  your  brother's  bed ; 
When  the  smile-wreathed  lips  'round  the  old  hearth-stone 

And  the  laugh  and  the  song  hath  fled? 
Like  a  stranger  you  tread  through  the  empty  hall, 
And  echo  but  answers  your  lonely  call ; — 
Christ  careth  for  you. 

He  careth  for  you  as  you  wither  and  shrink, 

'Neath  the  slanderer's  poisonous  tongue, 
When  only  the  All-searching  eye  can  see 

ilGw  the  innocent  heart  is  wrung: 
As  the  inky  spots  of  the  spoiler  spread 

O'er  your  withering  earthly  fame. 
And  the  lie  of  the  tale-bearer  holdeth  it  up 

As  a  by-word  and  a  shame, 
And  the  Pharisaical  world  pass  by, 
He  pities  and  loves  as  you  pray  to  die, — 
Christ  careth  for  you. 


142  CHRIST    CARETH    FOR    YOU. 

He  careth  for  you  when  your  life-plans  fail, 

And  hope  as  a  mocker  appears; 
When  the  beautiful  frost-work  of  human  bliss 

Dissolveth,  aye,  melteth  to  tears. 
He  calleth  you  up  from  your  wrecks  of  the  past, 

To  a  hope  whose  foundation  is  sure; 
Welcomes  back  the  poor  prodigal  heart  from  its  husks, 

To  a  plentiful  feast  and  a  pure, 
As  the  Holy  One  noteth  the  poor  sparrow  fall, 

Even  He  fmdeth  room  in  His  great  heart  for  all, — 

'  1 
Christ  careth  for  you. 


BEYOND. 

I'VE  a  picture,  thought-framed  and  life-tinted. 

In  the  imagery  halls  of  my  soul; 
A  landscape  whose  bloom  is  immortal. 

Whose  inhabitants  never  grow  old. 

There  are  lawns,  velvet  hill-slopes  and  meadows, 

More  fair  than  a  fairy -land  dream, 
And  the  fruit-bearing  trees  of  life  standing1 

On  the  banks  of  life's  beautiful  stream. 

It  hath  flowers,  like  the  souls  of  the  flowers 

That  perished  on  earth,  long  ago; 
It  hath  birds,  like  the  birds  of  our  childhood. 

Whose  songs  we  delighted  to  know. 


144  BE  YON' D. 

It  hath  skies,  they  are  brighter  and  purer, 
There  the  silver- fringed  clouds,  and  the  gold. 

Float  slowly,  as  ours  float  above  us 
Into  beauty-forms,  fold  and  unfold. 

It  hath  mountains,  and  lone  winding  valleys; 

It  hath  forests,  cool,  shadowy,  still; 
There  the  long  vines  trail  over  the  branches, 

And  the  blossom-shrubs  garland  the  hills. 

Lost  music-tones  memory  haunted, 
Like  the  vibrating  toll  of  a  bell, 

Lingered  long  on  our  hearts,  growing  fainter. 
Then  died  out  at  last; — was  it  well? 

Love-glances,  love-words,  and  love-treasures, 
Time's  cold  fingers  swept  them  away; 

He  froze  our  grief-sobs  into  silence, 
He  changed  our  life-jewels  to  clay. 


BEYOND. 

Our  earth-plans  all  fade,  as  the  leaves  fade; 

Our  best  soul  aspirings  are  stilled ; 
Hath  the  great  Father  made  us  to  mock  us 

With  Eden-dreams  never  fulfilled? 

I  believe  that  no  beauty  can  perish, 
I  believe  no  true  love-charm  can  die; 

That  as  melody  vibrates  forever, 
Soul-longings  are  filled  by  and  by. 

I  believe  as  an  infant  from  weakness, 
Up  reaches  to  manhood  at  length ; 

Stepping-stones  we  may  make  of  our  failures, 
Of  our  sorrows  a  ladder  of  strength. 

I  believe  in  an  atmosphere  purer, 
We  may  realize  Eden's  dream-bliss; 

To  live  out  the  soul's  aspirations, 
To  build  on  the  promise  of  this. 


THE   NATION'S   DEAD. 

O  BROTHERS,  these  graves,  they  are  only  a 
On  this  day,  the  day  ye  are  keeping; 

There  is  many  a  mother  who  knows  not  where:- 
The  dust  of  her  first-born  is  sleeping. 

In  the  graveyards  of  rich  old  southern  towns.. 

Afar  from  the  hearts  that  have  loved  thevvu 
Where  baffled  Rebellion  still  knitteth  its  frowns 

And  the  treason-tread  echoes  above  them-.. 

Beyond  the  dead-line  of  the  prison-pens, 

Where  the  tried  soul  grew  wild  in  its  yearnin 

Girt  in,  by  the  hatred  of  fiendish  men, 

Shut  down,  by  the  brazen  skies'  burning.. 


THE  NATION'S  DEAD.  147- 

Till  they  babbled  of  northern  ice  and  snows, 

With  pulses  like  fire-flood  leaping, 
Or  mournfully  talked  of  old  home  repose, 

When  the  storm-cloud  at  midnight  was  weeping. 

Where  fever-lands  border  the  river-banks, 

And  malaria  poisoned  his  pillow; 
Where  deadly  miasma,  from  marshes  dank, 

Crept  up  o'er  the  weed  and  the  willow. 

By  the  sun-heated  waters  of  still  lagoon, 

Where  a  dirge  through  the  pine-bough  is  swelling?. 

There  is  many  an  unknown  soldier-grave, 
No  tablet  life's  history  telling. 

In  the  hast'ly  dug  trench  of  the  carnage-plain, 

Uncoffined,  unshroudcd,  untokened, 
Like  a  swath  by  the  red-handed  reaper  slain, 

When  the  war-cannon's  hot  mouth  had  spoken. 


•148  THE  NATION'S  DEAD. 

Where  with  hearts  of  oak  and  with  still,  proud  lips, 

The  iron-clad  souls  of  the  nation 
Went  down  at  their  posts,  in  their  flame-wreathed 
ships. 

For  freedom,  a  free-will  oblation. 

Some  fell  when  the  midnight  hung  black  as  a  pall. 
The  tempest-cloud  thick  and  unrifted, 

Some  fought  till  the  peace-star  arose  on  us  all, 
And  the  war-smoke  divided  and  lifted. 

Then  he,  with  the  victoiy-song  on  his  lips, — 

Our  leader,  the  noblest  hearted; 
Our  tried  one,  the  last  martyr-soul  of  them  all, 

Like  a  dream  of  the  morning  departed. 

O,  purer  than  lillies  yet  sparkling  with  dew, 

O,  sweeter  than  roses  in  bloom, 
Is  the  memory-spray  ye  are  weaving  to-day. 
To  garland  our  patriots'  tomb. 


"YE   MIGHT   HAVE   REST." 

O  EARTH,  so  full,  so  full  of  breaking  hearts, 
Of  white  lips,  hushing  every  cry  of  pain, 
Of  those  who  go  to  sleep  with  tear-wet  cheeks, 
And  wake  to  weep  again! 

O  earth,  so  full  of  feverish,  thirsting  souls, 
Gaunt,  hunger-eyed,  they  press  us  everywhere, 
Their  dumb  lips  pleading  for  the  bread  of  life, 
Each  sigh  a  prayer! 

Once  to  a  sinning,  sorrow-wasted  crowd, 
There  came  a  voice  as  sweet  as  it  could  be, 
A  voice  whose  echoes  have  not  died  away, — 
"  Come  unto  me !" 


150  YE    MIGHT    HAVE    REST. 

He  was  a  man  of  sorrow,  and  He  knew 
Each  anguish  note  that  swelled  the  wail  of  woe. 
The  burning  pulse,  the  night-chill  of  the  soul, 
Its  ebb  and  flow. 

He  was  a  healer;  He  could  lay  His  hand 
On  the  plague-smitten  brow  or  breaking  heart: 
He  death,  disease  and  darkness  could  control, 
And  bid  depart. 

Down  through  the  ages,  mingling  with  the  din 
Of  nations'  tumults,  was  and  still  shall  be 
A  tender  under-tone  of  patient  love, — 
"  Come  unto  me." 

In  every  age  some  of  the  toiling  crowd, 
Some  poor  sin-wearied  ones  have  sought  His  breast, 
Found  healing  and  shelter  from  the  storm, — 
A  place  of  rest. 


YE    MIGHT    HAVE    REST.  1 

O.  the  throngs  that  walk  the  downward  way, 
'The  sin-led  victims,  blinded  and  oppressed, 
^Unheeding  Jesus'  tender,  earnest  call, — 

Who  "  misrht  have  rest." 


THE   SPRING   BENEATH   THE   HILL." 

JUST  as  twilight,  softly,  slowly 
Folded  earth  in  mystic  spell, 
Came  the  sound  of  singing  water, 
Through  a  shadowy  silent  dell. 

All  in  white,  I  saw  a   maiden 
Roaming  at  her  own  sweet  will, 

Down  among  the  silver  birches, 
By  the  spring  beneath  the  hill. 

Kneeling  there  she  let  the  water 

Drop  in  pearl-beads  through  her  hand, 

Whispering,   "Water-drops,  he  loves  me;. 
Can  vou,  can  you  understand?" 


THE    SPRING    BENEATH    THE    HILL. 

"  Yes,"  came  answer,  very  sadly, 
"  Many  a  child  as  fair  as  thou 

Wept  her  tears  into  my  bosom 
O'er  a  false  forgotten  vow." 

Bowed  she  by  the  sleeping  lillies, 

Kissing  woke  them  from  their  dreams, 

Saying,  u  Lillies,  read  my  riddle: 

Know  ye  what  'I  love  thee'   means?" 

But  the  half  awakened  lily 

Shook  the  dew-drop  from  her  cup, 

Sighing,  kt  Trust  not,  maiden,  trust  not. 
We  must  give  thy  riddle  up." 

Then  the  pine-boughs  and  the  birches. 

Then  the  willow  and  the  stream, 
Echoed,  "Trust  not,  maiden,  trust  not;" 

So  I  woke  me  from  my  dream. 


ORA'S     LUTE. 

I  GAZED  with  longing  on  mine  idle  pen, 

And  sighed,  "  Will  not  the  Father  give  somewhat 
Of  thought,  to  bless  the  world  and  teach  all  men 
To  watch!" 

, 
And  then  with  inner  sight,  the  spiritual, 

A  vision  saw  I,  though  earth-eyes  beheld 

Naught  but  the  dying  summer  in  a  shroud, 

With  rain-tears  drenched,  and  gray,  low-hanging  cloud. 

I  saw  a  castle  high  on  stormy  crag, 

By  ocean  billows  washed,  whose  ceaseless  moan 
Broke  day  and  night  along  the  lower  wall, 

The  white  cliff-line,  the  time-worn,  massive  stone. 


ORAS  LUTE.  155 

Down  western  sky,  toward  the  western  deep, 
The  stooping  sun  did  gild  a  rising  bank 

Of  storm-charged  cloud,  then  over  land  and  sea, 
As  in  a  death-pause  hushed,  the  twilight  sank. 

From  lattice,  and  from  turret,  and  from  tower, 
Shone  festive  brightness;  in  the  court-yard  old 

Great  oaks  were  hung  with  glimmering  lamps  that  lit 
The  gathering  gloom  with  purple,  green  and  gold. 

There  was  the  clang  of  glasses  from  the  hall, 
The  high,  voluptuous  swell  of  festive  song, 

And  white-robed  maidens,  stately  youths  and  tall, 
Wheeled  dizzily  in  pleasure's  waltz  along. 

Then,  in  the  music-pause,  I  heard  a  sigh, 

Then  saw  I  by  my  side  a  kingly  one; 
I  knew  Him  by  the  star  upon  His  brow ; 

My  Prince,  the  Castle-Master's  only  son. 


1^  OKAS  I.UTK. 

I  heard  Him  say, — His  rich,  deep  tones  did   make 
A.  hush  for  shame  in  mirth's  wierd  minstrelsy : — 

"  A  messenger  for  yonder  thoughtless  crowd." 
Then  I  said,   '•  Master,   here  am  I,  send  me." 

u  With  spies  mine  enemies  have  rilled  these  walls. 
Go  bid  my  servants  watch,  and  fight,  and  pray. 
My  coming  may  be  at  the  midnight  hour, 

My  coming  may  be  at  the  break  of  day. 
******* 

Of  all  the  palace  maidens  there  was  none 

That  was  so  plain  as  Ora.     'Round  her  heart 

She  drew  the  veil  of  silence  day  by  day, 

And  dwelt  in  dream-land  pensive  and  apart. 

Her  Prince  beheld  her  thus  estranged  and  mute, 
The  loneliest  of  all  that  joy-browed  throng, 

So  He  had  given  her  a  magic  lute. 

And  poured  upon  her  soul  the  gift  of  song. 


ORAS    LUTE.  157 

In  spirit  voices  that  did  preach  to  her 
The  lone  communings  of  an  inner  life, 

At  breath  of  morning,  and  at  the  midnight  hush, 
In  joy  of  spring-time  and  the  autumn   strife, 

Came  her  instruction :  "  Ora,  be  thy  lute 
To  love-notes  sacred  'till  He  call  for  thee; 

His  like  the  holy  hymning  of  the  spheres, 
His  like  hidden  praise-hai-p  of  the  sea." 

Enwrapped  in  thought,  her  eyes  upon  the  face 
Of  Time's  great  dial,  in  her  hand  the  glass, 

Whose  golden  sands  fell  slowly  one  by  one, 
Frail  links  between  the  future  and  the  past: 

She  sat  apart,  but  as  He  tarried  long, 

Upon  her  lute  she  poured  a  burdened  soul, 

So  sadly  and  so  sweetly  every  heart 

Did  melt  like  snow-wreaths  into  her  control. 


158  ORA'S  LUTE. 

The  men  and   maids  pressed  'round   her,  and  did   praise 
Her  songs  so  much,   that  wild,  tumultuous  heat 

Of  grateful  desire  to  pride-pulse  rose, 
Reel-flushing  lip  an;l  brow  to  fj\vr  luat. 

Though   "  Queen  of  song"   they  crowned  her,  Ora's  life 

Grew  weary  with  the  weight  of  unknown   fears, 
Though  draped  in  bordered   mantle  day  by  day, 

She  drenched  her  pillow  nightly  with  her  tears. 

*##*#*# 
Then  in  the  corridor  and  in  the  Court 

I  cried,  "  O,  simple  ones,  hear  wisdom's  voice, 
O,  fools,  be  ye  of  understanding  hearts," 

And  some  did  jeer  and  mock,  and  some  rejoice. 

I  saw  a  frank-eyed  youth  impetuous  seek 
Mid  rusted  armor  his  rust-covered  shield, 

His  rubbish-hidden  sword  with  unusc  dimmed. 
Ere  drawn  in  conflict  on  the  carnage  field. 


OKA  S    LUTE.  159 

I  saw  a  sad-faced   man   put  by  his  cup 

Of  cursing,  for  a  penitent  array, 
A  startled  maiden  rush  from  the  embrace 

Of  black-browed  villainy,  to  weep  and  pray. 

But  still  the  dancers  tread,  the  ring  of  gold, 
The  clang  of  wine-cup  broke  the  solemn  night. 

Still  ribald  song  and  insane  laughter  told 
The  mad,  wild  revel  only  at  its  hight. 

Night-folded  sea,  expectant  as  the  grave, 

Moaned  for  the  tempest,  hastening  from  afar, 

Then  home-bound  ocean-bird  fled  o'er  the  wave, 
Then  lifting  storm-cloud  shrouded  every  star. 

When  Ora  heard  my  message,  from  her  brow 
She  .tore  her  gem-set  crown,  and  from  her  lute 

Its  laural  wreath;  through  cold,  numbed  hands,  it  fell 
With  one  long  wail  of  anguish,  and  was  mute. 


160  ORA'S  LUTE. 

Through  lonely  after-hours  of  that  sad  night, 
While  revelers  lay  drenched  in  drunken  sleep. 

Some  faithful  ones  walked  sentry  through  those  halls. 
And  listened  for  the  coming  of  His  feet. 

And  watchers  watched  upon  the  corner  tower. 

Beside  the  portal  and  upon  the  wall, 
With  hushed  heart-throbbings,  but  one  broken  heart, 

Lost  Ora's,  was  the  stillest  of  them  all. 

Her  ruined  lute  defaced  and  broken-stringed, 
Chilled  as  the  form  that  underneath  it  lay, 

'Mid  wind-sigh,  and  wild  sea-wail  and  cold  rain. 
In   lightning-gleam  and  shadow    mute  alway. 


THE    END. 


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